Su araval tu elvaral u na emma abelas
by Isolationistmagi
Summary: This is NOT a high fantasy piece. Those looking for a cheery read should look elsewhere. Those with a thing for grey heroes are welcome. You have been warned.  As usual, credit to Bioware for the universe.
1. Chapter 1

_**Heart of The Blight**_

The red-golden brown eyes flared open to meet the cold light of the early morning sun. The air may have been warm, except a thick mist effectively sucked the better part of the heat out of it. A fire had helped fight this through the night, but it had long since perished and not but ashes were left where it had once burned. A lone mabari stood watch over the campsite, the occasional fleck of drool rolling over its lip and splashing ever so softly upon the almost wet ground.

Mahariel sat up straight, her face betraying nothing of the nightmare that she had just awoken from. The mabari trotted over and set its head in her lap and she began to stroke its almost mangy half-gold-half-brown fur. Sometimes she forgot the taint wasn't merely a part of her, but then the nightmares would come, and she would invariably remember. It was a poison that didn't belong in her, and at times like this she cursed the day she and Tamlen found the Eluvian. She would also curse the day that darkspawn came into the world, and she would especially curse the day that she had met Duncan. Even now, so many years after that thrice damned event, she felt that she could have just as easily died that day without reservations. She was at this point more than she had ever been, but oh what she would give to be how she was before!

She dwelled on these things for perhaps a moment, maybe two, then stood erect. The mabari gave her an offended stare to which she responded with a grim smile. They both knew that her lap was not a cushion. She took a few steps to where the fire had gone out and looked at it thoughtfully. She then turned her head to the chasind sleeping scarce more than five paces away. She looked at the mabari again and gave a quick nod of the head. The hound trotted over to the chasind and began licking his face, waking him in a manner that was much to his displeasure. He gruffly shoved the dog away and got to his feet. _That's not funny warden._

She shrugged. _It wasn't meant to be. We need to be moving on._

Tearing down the camp was a quick and uneventful affair, but quiet. Oh, so very quiet. For the noise, the little noise they made in the deconstruction was neither echoed nor answered far or near within the depths of the Korcari Wilds. They were close, so very very close. Mahariel could sense it. She could sense it in the still air around her, she could sense it in the dirt and plants that had still not yet begun to recover from the corruption that had been mercilessly forced down upon them. The prevalent decay was almost a beacon. It was so very close, the epicenter, the point of exposition, the place where it all started, the place from which it welled up like a wave to crush the land beneath it. "It" being synonymous with exactly one thing and exactly one thing alone: The Blight.

Camp was broken and they trudged through the soft mud and the vast misted over swamps. Mahariel was leading them south, always south, to no fixed point. She followed her internal compass where it led her, even if she knew not why it was leading her there. The mabari stayed close by, constantly sniffing the air for any sign of danger. The chasind stayed a little back and to the right, but Mahariel would still occasionally catch him staring at her through the corner of her eye. She let it pass for a time, then stopped and stared at him directly. _Is there something you wanted, Tornas?_

Tornas, for that was indeed his name, was calm in his reply. _I want nothing. It's just that... you are a very strange woman._

Mahariel shook her head and led them on. She continued to speak with Tornas as they walked. _You've not met an elf before, I'm sure that's part of it._

Tornas nodded even though she wasn't looking at him. _Part of it, yes, but not all. Some of it is that you are a warden that has left the order, part of it is that you are a hero that shows little interest in the country that you have saved, part of it is that you were forced to leave your tribe and haven't once tried to find them again. Why is that?_

_Joining the order was never my choice, neither was leaving my clan. I would have stayed, but I knew the choice had already been made for me, and I wasn't going to force the issue. I volunteered so that I would not be drafted, as it were. As for Fereldan... she can see to her own devices now. She doesn't need me to intervene._

_You never said why you didn't seek out your tribe._

_Does it matter?_ She snapped. _They forced me out, and it would never be the same if I tried to return there._

_But do you want to return?_

She shook her head and kept walking. _I never know what I want anymore._

And true enough she did not. Here she was, leading a complete stranger and a mabari through the Korcari wilds to who knew exactly where and without even being able to justify a purpose for it. It had occurred to her to turn back, at least once if not more, but she had already affixed herself to her path, and was the sort of stubborn person that would follow such a path to any end it might lead to. A dangerous attitude, and one that had seen her into danger many times before. Some people thought her foolish for this, and in her mind they were free to think as they would. Such was the nature of her character.

Tornas was undecided about this. He could respect a person that would see their enterprises through to whatever end but at the same time he did not believe many enterprises were worth pursuing in such a way. Was this an exception? He knew not. The shaman of his home village used to say: "Never raise a fist unless you're sure it's your fight," a piece of advice he would have to ignore in order to be where he was. He wasn't sure if it was his fight, and he wasn't even sure if this was an endeavor worthy of his time. He had not yet admitted it to himself yet, but he would more than likely need to feel attached to this complete stranger on a personal level in order to be where he was now. Such was the way such things often happened. He stole a quick glance at her and then looked away.

Mahariel came to an abrupt stop near a fallen tree and the mabari began to growl. She reached for both swords hung on her back and pulled them swiftly, silently, into a ready position. Tornas still wasn't sure what was wrong and asked her. She looked back. _Quiet._ She whispered. Both Mahariel and the dog seemed to be listening intently for something. Exactly what that was was beyond his grasp. Suddenly she dived behind the fallen tree and waved for Tornas to do the same. The dog was already next to her, ears standing on end, nose sniffing constantly. A breeze stirred the mist and ruffled Tornas' hair some. He looked at her and whispered in the softest voice he could manage: _What is this about?_

She looked over the tree and ducked back down. _Something we can't fight._

Tornas looked over the tree himself. _I don't see anything._

She pulled his head down and whispered harshly in his ear: _That's because they're not here yet. Now stay down._

Tornas did as he was told and kept his head low. He couldn't help but notice the faint blue pulse coming from the sword in her right hand. He had never seen its like before, and was doubtful that he ever would again. She told him that it had been forged from metal fallen from the sky, a story he was hesitant to believe. His own greatsword was a simple thing. Plain steel with carvings of animals along the pommel, for he was a superstitious man and feared retribution should he kill a creature beloved by the gods. The logic was that carving animals into the sword could trick the gods into thinking the depicted animal did the killing. Such blades were not uncommon amongst the chasind.

Then he felt the chill in the air as all the heat was suddenly pulled out. He shivered and looked to Mahariel, who showed no reaction at all but was listening intently. He still couldn't hear anything but now he too knew that there was something out there, in the forest. He felt something brush his arm and looked. The mist was sliding along it like a snake, and rolling over the log and off to whatever unknown force approached. In fact, all the mist had developed a current and had affixed itself on an unerring trajectory to meet with what was coming. The air grew clearer as the mist left, but this was not to his comfort, as he thought he heard a rhythmic pounding, somewhere distant, in the boundless forest. He at that point reached a sweating hand for the moistened cold sword on his back and quietly lifted it to a position in which he could strike quickly if needed.

And that distant pounding did swell in volume. From not even a faint echo it grew, and grew, then it was as if the rhythmic beating of the drum in the distance. And from that it grew on a predetermined tract without erring to such an immense height that all else was silent for it stole all the sounds there were to be heard. He longed to cover his ears in protest, but that would mean dropping his sword, a thing he dared not do. He looked at Mahariel and saw her still calm while he felt on the point of screaming. How could her ears endure this kind of torment?

And then the sound grew still further and he felt that he must scream or die. How could any creature hear that and neither scream nor die? Then the mist returned and grew exponentially more opaque as the sound increased in volume still farther. And then it occurred to Tornas that the sound had not merely been growing louder, it had been growing closer. It sounded as if the fists of all the gods were pounding the earth to the sound's beat, and yet the earth never once did shake. He looked to see either Mahariel or the dog, but all had faded to white in the density of the mist. He slammed shut his eyes and prayed for that ten fold damned noise to silence itself and be gone. Incredibly, it shut itself up instantly. He opened his eyes to a silence so corporeal it felt to be crushing down upon him. He couldn't see his own nose in the fog, and he dared not utter a noise because all the world had gone silent. One could say that he was struck deaf dumb and blind, in all senses but the literal. And ah was the air not cold? It froze him in place it was so severe. He felt to be made of ice while he crouched there. He felt to have never felt heat at all. True indeed that the air was cold, if cold can consider itself a strong enough word to describe it.

And in that death chill a voice rang out, boisterous loud and clear, a stark contrast to the ambiguity of the world at that time. _Men! We are not cowards! We roam these woods to put an end to the evil that has plagued our land for these many months! Be swift! Be true! Do not falter! We shall cast each and every werewolf, demon body and soul, back into the Fade from whence it came! We are hindered by this fog, tis true! But lose not your hope, for we do the maker's work!_

Tornas looked to where he thought the warden was with a confused look on his face. Another voice rang out in the fog. _You are a fool, Arl Mort! We are as lost as we ever were, and this is all your fault for leading us into this maker cursed forest!_

There were murmurs of consent and the arl replied with more strong words shining with confidence. _Tis but a test of our faith! Werewolves are in wait deeper within the forest, and we shall make an end of them! Then we shall be free of this curse, once and for all! Now onward!_

There were murmurs of dissent but they were quashed by other cries of ONWARD! Tornas clenched his teeth as the army moved on in a thundering sonic symphony of dread. The Arl spoke with words of nobility, but the sound of his march gave away his heart. The three waited behind the tree for the army's passing, and in time the mist receded into its normal thick but not impermeable state of existence. Mahariel stood up and replaced both swords. Tornas replaced his and looked at her, dumbfounded. _What was that?_

Mahariel leaped over the fallen tree and led the trio onward as she spoke. _Back when werewolves plagued fereldan, a great arl mustered an army and came into the wilds to stamp them out. He killed every wolf, werewolf, man, woman and child that he could find. One of the survivors, a woman, stabbed her heart and cursed the arl as she did so. From the spot where her blood touched the ground the mist originated, and spread through the entire wilds until the arl and his men were lost forever. Those were the arl's men, if you believe in legends._

_Do you?_

_I do._

The mabari gave an affirmative bark and Tornas looked at it. _You never told me the name of your dog._

Mahariel looked at the dog then looked away. _His name's Elt, and it's his choice to be with me. He is no more my property than you are._

_You are a very strange woman._

_You've said it before._

Tornas studied the blades upon her back and once more noticed the faint blue pulse from her main hand blade. What nature of metal pulsed like that? He cast the question from his mind, as it had been asked and answered before. He instead asked Mahariel where she had found the second of the two blades. _I found it fractured, deep underground. I had to gather the pieces and then reassemble it. It was around the time I found Branka_.

Tornas could not place the name, and asked her of it.

_An obsessed dwarf that cast aside everything that should have mattered to her in the pursuit of a lyrium infused anvil. She met a bad end. That's about all there is to say._

All falsehoods aside, as there was more to say, Mahariel was growing weary of Tornas' prodding. She had met few others that were so prone to ask menial questions. It was part of the reason she faded herself out of the spotlight all those years ago. Still, in a strange way it was flattering to know someone ignorant of her many accomplishments, and she bid him no ill will for it. Though she did wonder why he asked them. She asked him why he asked them and he replied that he didn't know. She had expected as much, and was the more flustered for it. He was like Alistair in that way, unwilling to answer a straight question. Still, she gave him credit for not deflecting with half thought humor. She was in no way attracted to Tornas physically, but she liked him for being different from the others who had heard of her.

She became aware of something on the horizon, a point where the ground simply seemed to fall into nothing, a point where the trees abruptly stopped. The blackness that had taken hold in the earth seemed to actually be sucking the light out of the air. It looked damp from where she was, but of a sickly yellow pallor. The earth beneath the blackness itself seemed to be dying. She looked down and saw no such thing at her feet. She drew out both her swords and looked at Tornas. _It's not far, best to be wary._

She led Tornas and Elt quietly then, making no noise as she crept carefully up to the phenomenon. The air grew still even for it already being still and the mist seemed to turn black. The smell was putrid, decay of the most appalling kind. It was near impossible to breathe. It was like the deep roads, only worse because it was on the surface. She shuddered at the memory of the deep roads. There was no place in Thedas she would rather not be more. Yet there she was, in them in all aspects save the suffocating walls and ceilings.

She drew even closer to the spot where the sickly yellow trees vanished and then suddenly found herself standing before a giant hole in the earth. Like a colossal festering wound it looked, more repulsive than a jagged wound with little flesh tendrils oozing pus. But it was the earth itself that was injured, not the fragile flesh of a mortal. It was wrong. Fundamentally wrong for such perversion to exist. She was silent for a long time as she stared at it. It was a fitting place for a parasitic cancer to well up and swallow the world, where the earthen flesh gave way to the dark and ailing body beneath. It made her angry, that evil could exist in the world distilled to such degree of potency, even seven years after the source had been removed. She had been told once that men's hearts held shadows darker than any tainted creature, but she did not believe that. Even the most cruel of human hearts had some inkling of decency, could the same be said of the darkspawn? To her, the answer was clearly in the negative.

Tornas tapped her on the shoulder and she whirled around as if prepared to strike him down. She then remembered who she was with and lowered her weapons. _What is it?_ Spite was in her voice, unchecked but not overly potent. She disliked being touched, and especially hated being surprised. Tornas gestured at a corpse dangling from a tree not far away. _How did that get here?_

A hell toned voice rang out as Mahariel turned to look at the dissected man hanging from a tree. _I can answer that for you._ A fireball flew by and blasted both tree and corpse into nothing. Mahariel and Tornas both whirled around to see a darkspawn emmissary standing before them. A head taller than the tallest of men, and of a powerful build, it was a formidable creature. It pulled back its scabbed and peeling lips and uttered a single syllable. _Me._

Tornas drew his blade to the ready and moved to strike but the fiend spoke first and he found himself immobilized. _So quick you are to judge so harshly, but it is understandable, if nothing else. Who would not fail to hesitate to strike a thing such as me down? A thing whose very nature alters the land around it? Yes, true indeed that your impulse is understandable. But whyfore strikes the other human not?_

The emmissary fixed its gaze upon Mahariel, which sent a faint shiver through her spine, being called human put heat in it. Why had she not sensed him? It should have been easy. She could only guess that there was so much taint already around, that she couldn't tell the difference of a little more. She frowned and looked at the thing, her hatred for it blatantly obvious. _I don't have an answer yet. Best for you to say what you seem to want to say before I ask myself that question. _

The emissary released Tornas from his hold and took a step closer. _Very direct..._ It began pacing back and forth, its hideous body contorting like some form of virus. Was the black mist actually trying to stick to this thing? Mahariel felt sure that her skin was crawling as much as the flesh on the monster before her. _I've been thinking... about the world. Why it is like this. We have my kind, largely bound by our nature to seek out and destroy yours. And then there is yours, who in turn destroys mine, but also destroys itself. Your kind has a will of its own, and uses it to destroy itself. Mine does not, and directs its destruction elsewhere._

_I've seen otherwise many times before. _Mahariel retorted. And she had. She remembered the architect and what that had caused. But she wasn't denying that darkspawn destroyed everything around them. They did little else it seemed as evidenced by the surrounding desolation.

The emissary looked at her before continuing. It seemed like an appropriate time for a vulture or something of the like to fly out of a tree, except there were no birds to see or hear far or near within that forest, and none of the trees were habitable by birds anyway. _Ah, but were they like the most? Resembled they the hive drones you see normally? _He watched her face for an answer and found it there. He smiled before continuing his monologue.

_One would infer that free will brings a desire for self immolation, yet here I am, once of the kind without, but now with, and I feel no such compulsion. So I am thinking of where such a compulsion comes from. If it is not in willpower, where is it? _Mahariel looked at Tornas and saw the barbarians urge to strike. She felt little different, but something in the things words touched her in a way she was not prepared for. The thing makes only the briefest pause before resuming.

_Is it in the mind? I studied the minds of many in this forest and determined that it was not. Is it in the body? Similar studies have proven no different, if more enlightening. But if it is in neither the mind nor the body, where then must it dwell? The only answer left to me is the soul, and that is a thing that cannot be studied. What am I to do in this situation? _

_So what you did to that man was to answer a question? _Mahariel asked, anger filtering into her inflections. She was bad at hiding it at the best of times, but it was growing especially difficult. The emissary tensed but tried nothing. Instead he gave answer. Calmly. Cooly.

_He was dead when I found him, so I took the opportunity that was given. That body was not a man, what it was before that makes no difference. _He paused. He blinked. He continued: _So I continue to think about the world, but am no closer to my answers. What does this have to do with you, you might wonder? Quite simply nothing, save that you have come here and made yourself a part of it. I consider this place my home, I would ask you why you have come here. Why have you come here?_

Tornas looked at Mahariel who was slow to answer. As much as she hated the thing, she was unsure what harm honesty could do. _From this point came the horde that almost crushed the only place I knew in this world. I suppose I wanted to look the eye of the storm in the heart and know what it was. _She looked over to the nearby pit of darkness. _It differs little from what I expected it to be._ Her disgust was easy for Tornas to see but missed completely by the emissary, who probably thought she could be some sort of pilgrim belonging to one of the old darkspawn cults. If she were a wolf, she would have bristled from head to toe at that thought.

The emissary paused and fixed her with a jet black eye. _And here is the obsession with the past. Another thing common to your kind. Why is this? There is no past and there is no future, there is only the present. Why devote the mind to things that are not substantial? My kind have no such impulses, but we learn from our mistakes, some of us, and they are not repeated. _

_I didn't even realize you were capable of learning. _Cut in Tornas abrasively, hands tightening on his sword. The emissary looked at him for only the briefest of moments in response, then fixed its gaze back upon Mahariel.

_I learned from the Father. He made me what I am now, and I saw what he made the others. He tried change nature to his will, but this thing is not done. It cannot be done. Nature can only change itself, this much I have learned of the world. And that led me to the question of why some beings try change it. Alas, I may be undying, but I will no doubt never see the answer... it is a pity. Tell me human, what is it that became of the Father? Does he yet dwell here?_

Mahariel felt a much more potent flare of rage at being called such a second time but quelled it. She shook her head and the emissary nodded. _And I can sense in your face that you were the one who killed him. Yet you bear our mark within... were you perchance a product of his research? No... I can see in your eyes that you were not. Tell me then, how came you to bear our mark?_

_I took it in willingly against my will._

The emissary cocked its head, it could have almost been an amusing gesture. _You speak in riddles, human._

_I am an elf!_ She yelled furiously and took a step towards the emissary. Compared to all the things to anger her to the point of acting in the conversation, the confusion of her race ought to have seemed menial. It can reasonably be inferred that the outburst was due to the cumulative furies of every offense the thing before her had committed. Ranging from its inability to tell she was an elf to the far greater affront that it existed.

She checked herself before going a step further, but it was done. The emissary panicked and tried to restrain her magically. This might have saved him, except that Mahariel was well acquainted with the skills of a Templar. She felt the intended restraint and instantly leaped at the emissary in self defense. The thing had not expected her to resist his magic and was caught utterly unawares. She ran her offhand blade through its chest as hard as she could. It was dead and bleeding on the ground before it even had the chance to raise an arm in its own defense. An interesting take on the brief fight is that both parties defended themselves, and Mahariel was simply better at it.

Tornas replaced his greatsword upon his back as she replaced her twin blades. He was amazed that it had gone by so quickly, he had barely had any time to move. He nodded in respect. _You live up to your reputation, warden._

She stood there looking at the emissary. _Then I suppose it's a true one. I think I'm done here._ He couldn't tell what she was thinking as she looked at it, but it was obvious that now that it was dead, she was bothered. She suddenly looked to the drop into the deep roads and walked over to it. And then there she was, standing right on the precipice. Tornas was scared at the image for some reason? Was she going to jump in?

She raised up her left hand and began studying a ring on it, turning it on her finger slowly. He thought he saw animals carved on it, but it was too far away to see them clearly. He wondered even more what it was she was thinking. He considered asking, but didn't dare break the silence. It had grown so potent after the emissary had died, it was unnerving. Then something changed. She seemed to stiffen all at once, and then her hand fell down to her side. She turned abruptly and started walking back towards the north, brushing past Tornas as she did so.

He was incredulous, that she should turn back after what had happened, what was going on? He felt it a waste of his time, and was more than a little upset. _So that's it then?_

She looked over her shoulder. _Yes. I've seen it, and now I'm not sure I wanted to. In any event, I have no reason to stay here. Come Elt._

The dog trotted to her side and Tornas stared at her dumbfounded. _Three weeks of walking to get here, and this is all we came for?_

She nodded. And he flew his arms up in exasperation. _Well that's just great then! Why did we bother with this then, I wonder? _

_I don't know. But I've been given something to think about._

_And what might that be?_

_What the emissary said, about our kinds destroying themselves._

Tornas shrugged. _What about it?_

_He was right._ She turned and left and Tornas, with no better idea, followed her. Whatever she had taken from the experience missed him, and it was some weeks before they reached his home village. There they parted ways or, to be more apt, she parted ways with him. He would never talk about what he thought had been a pointless venture, but the events of said venture he knew would shape the rest of his life forever. Word of the excursion similarly never left the lips of Mahariel. The dog might have spoken of it on occasion, but what do men know of such words, even the scholarly ones?


	2. Chapter 2

_**After The Emissary**_

El'Anreth. A name with little meaning to those unfamiliar with the elvish tongue. A name of blatant irony to those who can translate it. For what irony cannot be found in a town whose name translates to "Our Place of Safety" that originated following a simultaneous blight and civil war, and that is located in one of the harsher regions of the world? True indeed there is irony in the name.

It is night. The pale blue moon reposes blissfully in her black blue and midnight purple sky. Stars dance around her, and all is still except for earthly winds stirring tall stalks of wheat upon the earthly ground. And should one stand amidst these noble stalks, what would they see? Might they see the wooden walls in the distance, intricately carved with depictions of animals and elvish characters? Or perhaps the black silhouettes of houses beyond? Would they see the love and compassion that allowed the town to grow from nothing? Would they see the treetops of the Korcari Wilds just barely protruding their black bald heads out into the blue-black night sky in the horizon? Or might they see nothing at all? Some would most certainly see nothing at all. Still others would say that there is nothing to see in such a scene. All of these men will see nothing, but not all who see nothing will be these men.

One of them was, in fact, a woman. Mahariel did not see anything in that landscape because she was not looking. Her dog Elt did not see anything because his nose was buried in the dirt smelling whatever pleasant or pungent odors a nose might smell there. Mahariel was not looking at anything around her, but was instead watching images dance before her own eyes, superimposing themselves above all else. How then did she stride so casually through the field towards El'Anreth without paying the least bit of mind to her path? It would seem she had paced the route so many times before that her feet could guide her along it by instinct alone. Yet in truth she had navigated it before but once. This says something of either her memory or her luck, and it doesn't much matter which.

In her eyes light comes down through the high windows of the landsmeet chamber, casting the half of her nose on the side of the eye that had been focused in shadow. Before her stood Loghain, a man like and unlike herself in so many ways. He was fallen, yet still demanded some manner of respect from her. A wide cast of well known nobles stood faceless, as they were obscured by the poor lighting. Her eyes flitted down to the greatsword held in her hand, noticing how strange it looked clasped in her drakeskin glove. How strange how heavy how... unbelonging. The eyes refocused on Loghain and the rage welled within her again. That this man had allowed so many atrocities fired the anger not often dormant within her soul. It was the rage that lifted the blade, not her hand. It was the rage that made her second hand grasp the blade, her own arm casting a shadow across her eyes as she lifted it to deal the man the blow he deserved. But it was not the rage that saw the motion through to the end. As the blade neared the peak of the arc to come crashing down and sever his head she saw something in that man's face, she didn't even know what it was. It made her stop, and then the rage fell out of her and the blade thundered to the ground, its keening echoes reverberating long and somber throughout the full empty hall. She turned her head from the man and the assembly and stared at the floor. The words echoed around her mind as she remembered them. _"I can't... I won't do this." _Then came Alistair, for once in his life the more steadfast of the two, and lifted the blade himself. Loghain's eyes never left her, she felt them on her back. She felt them on her back right up until the moment Alistair's powerful blow sent the man's head flying to the nobles' feet. It occurred to her that she may have been that man's last mystery... what exactly happened then was still a mystery to her.

She ceased in her progress as she had reached the exterior wall of the town. She was invisible in the shadow, for the moon and wall had aligned themselves to cast her into it. Silence was all around, save for the dog's soft breathing. She looked up the wall. It was tall, and imposing. But it was made of wood, and that meant she could climb it without aid. She crouched low next to the mabari and whispered in his ear, her onyx black hair mingling momentarily with the rich mangy golden brown of the hounds'. The mabari lay down and gave her a look of concern, to which she offered an empty smile and patted his head.

She then turned to the wall. All was still above, as there were no sentries. A fool's mistake, but she would not fault the townspeople for it. She drew both of her swords into her hands; Starfang faintly pulsating in the darkness and Topsider's Honor somehow finding nonexistent light to reflect. She gave them an experimental twirl then thrust Starfang into the wall. It sank in deep and she pulled herself up experimentally. The blade held and made no attempt to slide from the wall. She then thrust in Topsider's Honor above Starfang and pulled herself, experimentally placing all her weight upon both blades. Neither blade showed any inclination of bending, and in truth she had not believed that they would. She then began meticulously scaling the wall, sinking one blade into the wall above the other and pulling herself up, much as one would do with ice picks. It was not long before she stood atop the battlements, such as they were, in the fullest blue silver light of the moon. She was dark skinned for an elf, though a few shades too light to be mistaken for a Rivaini.

There was not a soul about in the dark streets flanked by dark buildings, though an occasional light would flicker in a window. As with the exterior walls, animal carvings and other such dalish imagery could be seen regularly throughout the town. It brought a smile to Mahariel's heart, knowing that her people had a home they could call their own. And yet, this warming knowledge made her sad, to know she would never be a part of it. The result of the conflicting emotions was that her face remained stoic. A breeze ruffled her hair and she tucked it over her shoulder. She stood there another moment, perhaps longer, then leaped from the top of the wall straight to the bottom, the better part of a ten foot drop. The landing was noisy, and painful, but no one came to investigate and she began to steal quickly between the somewhat clustered houses, at one point even passing a windmill. When she passed a lit window she ducked low and moved a little quicker so as not to draw notice.

She got lost exactly once when she found herself at the tiny town's far wall, then realized her folly and turned back towards its heart. She was not bound for the center, but rather a house near it. Standing in front of the door she found it to be just like any other, except for the warmer air it had wrapped around itself like a blanket. She looked around herself quickly, and then knocked, ever so lightly upon the door. No one answered but she heard a rustling within, so she knocked again. That was a footstep... and another. She waited a few moments before knocking a third and final time. Ah! That was a coherent walk. Mahariel waited. A light went on within the house and moments later the door opened. Mahariel found herself face to face with the closest thing she had ever had to a mother. Ashalle, of clan Sabrae, now elder of El'Anreth. Nothing was said for a time, then she spoke, in a voice almost too soft for words. _Solaryn? _

Solaryn nodded and Ashalle instantly drew her into a tight embrace, a little to her discomfort. _It's good to see you again. _Ashalle whispered in her ear. Then she let go and showed Mahariel into the house. The light was coming from a new kindled fire and danced casually across the walls, over some chairs, scant few books and a table. All said, it was more or less a bare room. There was a door on the wall to the left of the entrance, but it was shut and no visions of the room beyond were yielded through the opaque wood. Ashalle gestured for Solaryn to have a seat, which she did. Ashalle however remained standing and stood with her back to the firelight. She looked very old in that light, perhaps even older than she actually was, which was easily three times Mahariel's age. She had worn age well for a time, but during the intermittent years between the end of the blight and this meeting it had obviously caught up with her.

On account of the fire, the room was mostly instead of completely silent. Ashalle looked at Solaryn with a look of sorrow upon her face. _I had wondered if you were ever coming back... it's been so long. _

Solaryn looked at her and looked away. _Did Ariane bring you the book? _

Ashalle nodded, and this brought some comfort to Solaryn. It was good to know that the book was in good hands. She looked back at Ashalle and felt the sadness in her eyes, knowing that she was part of the thing that brought it there. A flash of light caught her eye and she turned to see a mirror resting next to the door, which she had somehow missed earlier. The light as it turned out had been caught from the fire by the mirror and cast into her eye. She shuddered and looked away, a thing that did not go unnoticed by Ashalle. If Ashalle had been even mildly capable of bitterness before, she ceased at that moment. _You still think about it, don't you? _

Solaryn looked at the mirror and nodded. _Every day... Some more than others. Sometimes I look back and wonder if it would have been better if... if it would have been better... _

Ashalle looked at her kindly. _Still, after all these years? _

Solaryn fixed her eyes directly into Ashalle's, both saw the sadness of the other, and both were moved by it. _Always. _She looked past Ashalle to the fire, a strange look in her eye.

The sadness, the sincerity of that one word, brought tears to Ashalle's eyes. _Feelings like that put the better part of the beauty into this world_.

Solaryn nodded slowly. _Such beauty comes at the expense of those that have it. _She looked to the mirror again with no small degree of distrust. Were it not Ashalle's, and were Ashalle not there, she would have likely smashed it to put her mind at ease. But it was Ashalle's, and Ashalle was there, so she decided she could tolerate the discomfort, at least for a time. A short time.

Ashalle looked at the fire. _There's a spare bed in the room you can sleep in. And maybe in- _

_I'm not staying. _Soft words with the power to put a knife through Ashalle's heart. Words can be funny like that. Solaryn could not bring herself to look at the woman as she spoke them. Ashalle shook her head and seemed somehow older than she had been just moments before. _May I ask why not? _

Solaryn stood up and stood before the fire next to Ashalle. The deep orange flames echoing off her eyes, just a little fainter than they were in reality. _When Duncan came I was so angry at being cast out, so furious at being given the illusion of choice, I was willing to hate the ones I loved and convince myself I didn't want to go back. It wasn't even hot anger, I was too numb for that. I could barely even tell I could feel, and yet I managed to feel hatred at all of them. There is no redeeming that. _

_You were younger then. _

_And Tamlen I believed dead, but are these to count in my favor? _She shook her head. _I need to see them, if nothing else. I, I want to let them know I'm sorry. _

_Will you not stay through the night, at least? _

Solaryn shook her head again and looked at the floor. _The night is the better part spent, and I do not wish to take risks. If I stop here, I run the risk of never leaving. It will be hard enough to leave as it is. _Silence, then a loud crackle of the fire, then more silence.

_Promise me one thing, please? _

Solaryn looked up. _Anything. _

_Just promise me that when you see them, you'll remember they didn't want to send you away. _

A brief pause, then Solaryn gave answer. _If I didn't realize that, I wouldn't be going to see them. But I will promise you this. _She brushed a lock of hair back over her shoulder. _And in return, I will make you a promise you have not asked of me_. She raised a hand to place on Ashalle's shoulder, but then lowered it trembling to her side again. _I promise you that this will not be the last time you see me, and I'll stay longer next time. _

_I'll hold you to that. _

Solaryn nodded gravely. _I would have it no other way. _

Ashalle placed her hands over the fire to warm them. Solaryn looked over her shoulder at the mirror with distrust then looked back to the fire. Ashalle shook her head. _Will you be going then? _

Solaryn looked at her and then back at the fire. _Yes... I suppose I should. _She reached to the back of her neck and unclasped a pendant, the surface of which was smooth as glass and reflected the world around it. Ashalle thought she saw Solaryn's father in it for a moment, but decided it was an illusion. She heard the beads of another necklace clinking as Solaryn carefully coaxed it off of her neck. She took Ashalle's hand and carefully pressed the amulet into it. _Keep this safe. _She pulled away after that.

Ashalle nodded. She looked at Solaryn's neck and saw her mother's heirloom still fastened there. It put a warmth in her heart to know that she had kept it through all the intervening years. _They landed in Kirkwall and intended to head to Antiva from there. I wish I could tell you more_.

Solaryn nodded in thanks and made for the door. Ashalle followed her. When it was opened a cold gust of air rushed in, for it was nearing winter and the days were soon to grow bitterly cold. Solaryn turned to Ashalle one final time and deposited an obese coin purse into her hand. _You had best take this. I won't be needing it_.

Ashalle shook her head and offered it back but Solaryn refused. _Trust me, I'll be fine without it, and I'm sure the people here have more need of it than I_.

Ashalle walked through the shut door and Solaryn stood there puzzled. When she came back out she held a hooded travelling cloak in her hand. _Against the cold. _She said.

Solaryn gave a simple nod of thanks and Ashalle embraced her a final time. Solaryn tensed but did not withdraw. Then she turned and stole off into the night. Ashalle walked over to a chair and collapsed into it. The door swung shut slowly, circulating a brief current of air through the room as it did so. The fire flickered and dimmed and then flared again. Ashalle remarked to herself that Solaryn had been wearing the same armor as the day she left, only whatever it was was certainly harder than deerskin. The armor called to her mind how much harder Mahariel herself had become. She was not now the person she had been before. She was tougher more scarred more... world weary. She shuddered to recall the scar running the length of her left arm, put there by some blade it should have by all rights never felt. It made Asahlle sad, though she realized Mahariel was in many ways better off than she had been before. She thought about that. She thought about that long and hard through the night, and come the dawn she was sleeping in the chair, the fire having sputtered and died away to nothing during the night.

_"I've been thinking... about the world. We have my kind, bound by their nature to destroy yours. Then there is yours, which in turn destroys us. Not only that, but destroys itself. Your kind has a will of its own, and uses it to destroy itself. -Where does such a compulsion come from? Is it in the mind? Is it in the body? In the soul?" _Such was how Mahariel remembered the emissary's words as she leaped to the ground next to the mabari. Though that emissary was dead and gone, and the past lost in the forest, these words held tremendous power over her. She even had an answer to the emissary's question. The desire for self immolation was in the heart. She had known it forever, but it took the emissary to make her understand. And what right had she to wound her people and herself by distancing herself from them? The emissary had prodded her to dwell on this, and it vexed her continuously. In her heart she knew she had wronged her clan, and had to at least apologize for it, even if she could not make it right. That was why she was seeking them out. She needed to make peace with them, as much for her sake as for theirs, and she knew she would have no peace until she did. Of course, it is entirely possible that the need of such a thing existed not beyond the depths of her mind. It falls to others to consider that possibility.

She knelt down low to the mabari and whispered praise in its ear for doing as it was told and stood erect. The moon was coming low in the western sky, and there were scant few hours of night left. She donned the cloak and flung the hood over her head, concealing her ears and her hair and, from certain angles, her face. She wanted to reach Gwaren as soon as she was able, and being recognized as the Hero of Ferelden would make that very difficult. It was at least as much a burden as a gift, and she saw it as more of the former then the latter.

_"All I ask is that you make it quick warden. I can face the Maker knowing that Ferelden is in your hands." _She shook her head as she walked with the mabari trotting beside her. There had been no way to make Loghain's destruction quick, because it had begun long before she had ever known his name. Destroying a man was not a feat that could be done spontaneously, but could only be achieved over the course of a lifetime. She thought about that, then thought about herself. Was she on the same path? No... She was not on the same path, whatever resemblances her life bore to that man's, they were not the same. Ah but they were similar. So very similar. Was it not that lack of disparity that forced her hand to stillness that day? She had no answer.

She took one look back at El'Anreth when she reached the Imperial Highway. It was nothing more than a faint black lump sitting on a black opaque horizon beneath a progressively bluer sky. She wished Ashalle the best then turned and marched on towards the east.

To preserve her ambiguity she traveled by night, and always with the hood up. She left the highway when she sensed someone coming and would only reenter once they were long past. This confused the mabari, but that was okay. She didn't expect it to understand. She understood that she needed to leave Ferelden to find the clan, and she also understood that every delay bore the risk of her never fulfilling her goal. So in this manner she stole along the highway like a fugitive. Day to night to day to night to day, over a procession of weeks, she traveled, sleeping little. Sometimes the days were gentle, setting her often troubled heart into an aesthetic ease. Other times the nights were harsh, reminding her of exactly why she was embarking on this journey and amplifying the speed and power of her stride.

Many called her hero, but was that indeed a proper word? As she marched towards Gwaren she found herself wondering this from time to time. Did a hero doubt their heroism? Did they have such trouble as hers finding a purpose once one was fulfilled? Did they baulk at the circumstances that led to their title? She looked at the sky when these questions crossed her mind, and wondered if the creators had indeed ever existed. Or the Maker, or any form of true deity at all. Night passed to day to night to day again in such a manner, until she eventually found herself near the end of the beginning of the first part of her journey.

The sun was crawling into the sky, the dawn. Mahariel could just distinguish Gwaren, barely perceptible through the trees and over a shallow rise. The air was cool but not cold, and dew hung on the branches. the mabari sniffed the air furtively, and gave a happy bark. Mahariel rubbed its head affectionately and stared at the semidistant town. She thought about Loghain for a time, and then thought about Alistair. He had been serving well as a king for the past years, and Ferelden was the better for his leadership. She thought back to the day he won the crown, which was perhaps the most surprising day of her life in relation to him. She had previously agreed to support the Teyrn's Daughter Anora in her bid for the throne, under the assumption that Alistair would baulk at the idea of taking it and gladly let her have it. The look on Anora's face was memorable when Alistair proclaimed that he intended to take the throne, and Mahariel had been struck all but dumb. She supposed that was what she deserved for making such an assumption. She wondered how the would be Queen fared as she looked back to Gwaren, suddenly aware that her eyes had drifted away. She pulled her blades off of her back and concealed them beneath the cloak. _Come on Elt. _She muttered under her breath as she started walking towards the port.

A guard stared at her as she passed into the town and she felt his eyes after she passed him. She turned and looked him in the eye. _Do you want something? _

_You look familiar for some reason... _The guard tilted his head to one side and his eyes narrowed. _You're that whore from the brothel in the docks, aren't you? _

What had at first been trepidation quickly replaced itself with a thinly veiled rage. Her hand curled into a fist and started shaking. _I should hope not. _

The guard shrugged and went back to watching the road. _Pity. _

She resisted the temptation to walk up and hit him in such a way so that he would never have children. She turned and followed her nose to the smell of the sea. She didn't pay much attention to the town itself, she was not there to sightsee. When she caught sight of the docks she stopped and stared out at the ocean for a moment in awe. Somewhere on the other side of that vast expanse was mainland Thedas, a place she had never been, the place she needed to go to. She was somewhat apprehensive at the thought, but not in the usual way.

She focused on the piers and quickly marked a ship that looked suitable with a man standing next to it. She walked the long way over to him and looked at him passively. _Do you know if she is bound for Kirkwall_? The man looked at the ship and then looked at her. _What business is that of yours? _

_I need to get to Kirkwall, I have money for it. _

_Mayhap she is, mayhap she isn't, I would- _He stopped. Something in her face told him this was not a person to be toyed with. _Aye, she's heading there, but we're not taking any more passengers. _

_Like I said, I have money for it. _She reached into the cloak and withdrew a coinpurse. She had not given Ashalle everything, but rather just that which she thought she would not need to reach the Free Marches. She pulled ten sovereigns out and held them for the man to take. _In exchange for passage. _She explained.

The man grabbed the money and tucked it away. _Fine, you're on, but no dogs. _

She looked at the panting Mabari. _He'll be staying behind. _The hound looked at her pitifully but she ignored it for the time being.

The man nodded. Good. _We leave tomorrow at noon, don't be late Miss...? _

_Call me Laryn. _

_Laryn, then. _He surveyed her briefly. _You look a little different than most women around here. _

_I'm not from around here. _

The man nodded. _Fair enough. _He smiled at her in a manner that was unpleasantly pleasant and bid her a good day.

Mahariel went back into the town, where she would wait for the time of departure. She eventually came to a small garden and knelt down and whispered in the Mabari's ear. _Go off and find Alistair. Keep him company for me will you? I'll be back in a while_.

The mabari whined loudly and looked at her pleadingly. She shook her head with a smile on her face. _The open sea is no place for a dog, but I'll be back soon, I promise. Just go to Denerim and stay with Alistair, I'll be there in a while. _

It whined again and batted at her with its paw. She took it in her hand and looked the straight in the eye. _You'll be fine, now get going. _

The mabari reluctantly trotted off and Mahariel stood up. There was the better part of a day to wait for the ship, and there was nothing within Gwaren that had caught her interest. Knowing not what else to do she paced the streets for hours, until she felt she knew them like the back of her hand, a knowledge impossible to ascertain in one day. When night came she slept in a cheap inn that smelled worse than the drunkards that stayed there. But it was nothing, a minor discomfort was a small price for this chance. She would be leaving for the Free Marches the next day, and she could find no wrong in the idea. She would be with her friends soon, the people she had known her entire life. She took comfort in the thought.

Those more omniscient than she might have been more pessimistic.


	3. Chapter 3

_**En Route to Kirkwall (1st Aspect)**_

Mahariel leaned over the ships railing with the air of one whose heart was knelt down to pray. She watched the waters of the ocean gently licking and caressing the sides of the ship. She felt the methodical up and down, rise and fall motion of the ship, much the same as she had felt it the previous eight days. It was dawn, and the red yellow orange glow of the sun sparkled on more distant waves, but her head was inclined at too steep an angle to see them. From her point in space, land was an imaginary concept, as there was no land present to prove it otherwise. The water was too opaque to see fish in it.

Mahariel reached beneath the folds of the cloak and withdrew from it an orb painted into the face of a familiar night sky that she had never seen before. She recalled where she found it as she slowly turned it in her hand. It was near Zathrian's clan in the Brecillian Forest, just lying on the ground... like something carelessly discarded. She couldn't understand why someone would do that. As she studied the dark polychromatic surface she thought of earlier days, before she had been a warden at all. She remembered asking Merrill to perform magic for her, as she had been fascinated by such things. She remembered hunting with Fenarel, beneath the warm and eerie canopy of the Brecillian Forest. Had she not made her first kill while on the hunt with him? She smiled at the thought, remembering the pride she felt in having gutted the bear that aimed to maul him. Varathorn had been pleased, and gave a particularly glorious rendition of the tale of Shartan that night, with the keeper working strange magics to bring the story alive in a way not even the greatest of poets ever could. Mahariel thought warmly of these things. Ah, how young she had been then! How happy...

She remembered lying in a forest clearing one night next to Tamlen, where they did nothing other than watch the stars in silence. She would occasionally pass a sidelong glance at him which he didn't seem to notice. And then, at other times, she thought she felt his eyes on her, but he was always looking somewhere else when she turned her head. She rotated the skyball in her hand and looked at the moon painted on it in shades of blue and silver. She had once made the comment to Tamlen that it looked sad, to which he had replied _"Whatever would it be sad about?"_ She didn't know. There was an awkward moment after that in which red golden brown eyes met with ones that were pure forest green. She had been happy then. Twelve days later they would meet three humans in a forest, who would tell them about a cave. Her eyes closed and she found herself reliving that day scene by scene, moment by moment. She shook her head violently to clear it from her mind and flew her eyes open to look out over the crystalline waves of the restless sea. They looked like flowing shards of glass. She looked to the sky and saw a black cloud on the horizon, then looked back to the somber black orb.

_"Had always... loved you, lethallan."_

She heard those words in her ears. She did not remember, she heard them. Had anyone else been on deck, they might have seen her fingers grow white around the orb they clutched and they would have seen her hand shaking, subtly though violently. Next they would have seen her shove the sphere into the folds of her cloak as she turned to go below deck. Had anyone been there to see this, they would have surely wondered what could prompt such a display. Surely it was not the act of a happy person.

Below deck Sarah, an apostate mage as of two years prior, leaned casually against a crate in the cargo hold, letting a spark flit between her fingers for amusement. There were other passengers about, but they were elsewhere, so she felt safe in her practice. One might think that a refugee from the Circle of Magi might have been more cautious. But, not unlike some of her other aspects, such recklessness was the byproduct of an inherent defect of reason, a singularity which at that moment was permissible: If for no other reason than that there was no one present to give witness of her display to the Templars that were she knew not where. The casual indifference she felt as to where the two Templars on board the ship were can be viewed as another byproduct of the aforementioned defect of reason.

Back in Denerim she had been admired by another apostate for her ability to evade the Templars. To him, the notion that an Apostate could live in such a city, with templars and guards all around, and not be detected was- in a word, incredulous. Especially when it was considered that she kept in practice with her magical talents. He asked her once how she did it, to which she had replied: _I've had a lot of luck, I guess._ He had laughed at that and asked her if he could have some. _"I can't help you."_ She had replied. _"I don't know the first thing about luck, only that it is certain to change."_ She had said it in a light and carefree nature that foiled the darker implications that were present. He had raised an eyebrow and asked her what she intended to do when her luck changed. _"I'm not worried about that until it changes."_ She had replied.

And it did. Her luck changed rather quickly quite early one afternoon. She had left the chantry in the market district, and had offered a casual hello to a Templar she had become acquainted with. As she was passing the Gnawed Noble tavern on her way to the wonders of Thedas shop she had heard it: a loud commotion behind her. She had turned around to see her friend running through the street, knocking shoppers out of the way, clearly not caring what commotion was made in his attempt to flee. The Templars were in pursuit, their armour glittering in the sun like the cold steel that it was. Her heart had stopped for a moment as she realized what was happening. One of the Templars stopped and called a fist of fire down from the heavens upon her friends head. She had heard of that power before, but had yet to see it firsthand. He fell with a screech of pain, though there were no burn marks on him. The Templars ran to catch up, an array of steel crusaders.. And when they caught him, they ran him through- in the middle of the street. In front of everybody. Many commended them for their efforts in hunting the rogue mage, Sarah left the district without saying a word. Two days later she left the city. One day after that she caught word that the Templars were following her. Apparently, they had been watching her for some time, and their suspicions had been confirmed when she fled.

At that point, she saw her only option as fleeing the country and, hopefully, getting out of the Templar's reach. So she ran to Gwaren and bought passage on the first ship she encountered. One can imagine her surprise when she learned not only that there were two Templars on board, but the ship was bound for Kirkwall- perhaps the most hostile place in Thedas, if one happens to be a mage. The notion had made her laugh very hard. Then, what should happen but an elf see her playing with magic two days into the voyage! That was the first time she had been genuinely afraid since arriving at Denerim. But fortunately the elf, Laryn- as she preferred to be called, held a less than favorable view of the chantry and had agreed to keep quiet.

Now here she was, an apostate on a boat with two Templars who remained oblivious to her existence at the discretion of a woman she barely knew. The Maker had a twisted sense of humor indeed. She smiled at the notion and wondered how long it would be before her luck changed for the worse, again. She looked at the spark flitting about her fingers and casually changed it blue, then green, then red, then purple. She wondered what the Templars would do if the boat suddenly burst into purple flames, but it was a weak and ephemeral notion. The spark multiplied, and there were then six where there had once been one. She wondered where the other passengers had gotten to. In their rooms, more likely than not. They could stay there as far as she was concerned. She wondered what time of day it was.

She heard footsteps outside and quickly snapped her hand shut to extinguish the sparks. The door opened and Laryn walked in, hooded, with the air of a person who was dwelling somewhere else entirely. She let the door close behind her and sat down next to Sarah. Sarah studied her face and considered again how sad it looked. It was not that the expression was sad, it was more that there was a certain sad undertone that remained present regardless of the way in which the face chose to arrange itself. She had a curious tattoo spanning her forehead that distinguished her as either being a Dalish or as having a tattoo, she couldn't decide which. Her face was not unpleasant, but remained unreadable as she spoke: _You're a fool for that._

Sarah cocked her head in confusion. _For what?_

_You're an apostate on a boat in the middle of The Waking Sea with two Templars on board, the better part of five days from land, and here you are, doing magic._ The statement was one of certainty without doubt, and there was no denying that it was also a true one. That was not what puzzled Sarah though.

_How can you always tell?_

Laryn gestured at the floor. _There is no ash, no kindling, no remains of a fire._ She then looked Sarah in the eye and gestured at her hand. _Scorch marks, fresh ones._ She said simply.

_It doesn't prove anything._

Laryn looked at her. _It doesn't have to. Some Templars hesitate if acting on suspicion because they want proof. Other Templars never seem to require it._

_How do you even notice things like that?_

Laryn smiled faintly _I've been practicing a long time._ The smile faded, and may well have never been there at all.

Sarah was puzzled. _You are a very strange elf._

_You're not the first human to tell me that._ She studied her fingers carefully, turning her hand over and under for a time. Sarah noticed a plain willow ring, ornamented with images of foxes and hares. Where did one find a ring such as that? Laryn interlaced her fingers and set her hands on her knee. _I'm curious, why exactly am I strange? I always thought such things relative._

_To what?_

_The perception of normalcy._

Sarah giggled at that, though was unsure if it was intended as humour. If it was, it was a strange kind. _I don't know... it's something in your manner, I guess. You always seem sad, but never act like it. You give that half smile to things that aren't funny and keep a straight face when given a joke. You sometimes seem content in one breath and bitter in the next. You put things in a way most people would not. Those sorts of things._

Laryn shrugged. _Correct on all counts, though most people do those things at one point._

_You do them constantly._

_Do I?_ It was a question in what was said. It had the tone of the question and was even asked like a question. But was it not a statement?

_What is it you're sad about?_

Laryn looked at her with a strange look on her face, was it surprise? Possibly, though dissimilar enough to be mistaken for something else. Though there isn't really an adjective in existence to describe what it might be mistaken for. Sarah wondered if Laryn understood the question, but came to the conclusion that she did. This made Laryn's long in coming response unexpected. _Sorry?_

Sarah stretched her legs out and leaned her head back to look at the ceiling. _You seem sad all the time, and you just agreed to it. Why so depressed? I just want to know what's wrong._

Laryn looked away. _I can't even remember the last time someone asked me that... it's sad now that I think of it._ She thought back to leaving the clan thinking Tamlen dead. Then she thought back to Ostagar, to Daveth, to Jory, Lothering, Sten, Leliana, Zathrian, The Circle, Redcliffe, Orzammar, then to having to kill Tamlen with her own hand. Then she thought of the darkspawn and her blood ran hot like fire. She shook her head and looked at the floor. _It's probably better that you don't know._ . Sarah was surprisingly unsurprised at that answer. _No lack of secrets between strangers, right?_

Laryn shrugged. _No lack of secrets._ There was no undertone to that statement. It was repetition, nothing more. There was a brief pause, then Laryn looked at her. _The cooks have probably readied the noon meal. It would be a shame to miss it._

_I've been down here all morning?_

Laryn again showed that stange half smile.. _Yes. I had assumed that you knew that. A couple of people missed you. One person was asking if you had gotten lost._

Sarah stood up and Laryn did the same. Sarah was the taller by more than a head, but there could be no question as to which figure commanded more authority of the two. Sarah looked at the door. _How could I have not heard them moving about?_

Laryn looked at the door too. _Did you here that mouse scratching in that corner just after I walked in?_

Sarah looked to the corner Laryn was pointing at. _Okay, now that is just scary._

_Maybe your ears don't work very well._

_Maybe._ Sarah opened the doors and waved her hand in a gesture of satirical formality. _After you_, sharp ears. It was not an insult. Laryn shook her head, but Sarah could have sworn she saw just the faintest hint of a smile pull at her lips for just the briefest of moments. It might have even been real. She followed her out of the room and closed the door behind her. She had not met many elves, and most of them had been at least as inhospitable as one would expect a people in their position to be to one of the people of their oppressors. Coming to think of that, most people in general were cold to each other- Perhaps a form of self immolation caused by lack of trust. That reminded her of what Knight Commander Greagoir had said at her Harrowing:

_"There was a mage like you, about five years ago. He was the best apprentice this Circle had to offer, tutored by Irving himself. Many of the senior enchanters of that year thought he would clear the Harrowing in record time. But he did not pass this test."_ He had paused to let the words sink in: _"Skill with magic is not enough to pass this test. It is just as much about discerning where the real threat lies. A great many abominations are born from mages who cannot tell a demon when it looks them in the eye. Defects of perception are far more deadly than defects of skill. Though you may be tempted to slay your presumed foe and think your task done, remember this: Simple killing is a warrior's job, and you are no warrior- The greatest dangers of the fade are preconceptions, and careless trusts."_

Then he had gestured for her to touch the lyrium so as to project her spirit into the fade. In spite of Greagoir's warning, she had nearly fallen victim to a spirit of Desire masquerading as one of hope. Perhaps a little mistrust towards strangers was not such a bad thing, but did it always need to be so cold, so bitter? From the way most people interacted with each other, one would think that the answer must be yes. Sarah often found herself wondering if people were just downright determined to dislike each other. Laryn was different. She was (warm? hospitable? decent?) all right.

Fourteen people sat at the table. Two were Sarah and Mahariel, though the former did not know the latter as such. Another was a dwarf, who was for whatever reason taking cares equal in measure to Mahariel's to conceal his past, but that is for another time. Suffice it to say that he was a stoic fellow, and in no way commonly found in a mood to chat. There were two other elves, both men, rumored to have escaped from an unnamed master in Lothering. Rumor also pegged Mahariel as being connected to them in some way, but all parties concerned denied this. The sixth was a Ferelden noblewoman, who through some fortunate device had no idea that the Hero of Fereleden was on board the ship. She claimed to be en route to Starkhaven, where she intended to marry a powerful nobleman and gain political influence. But it should be kept in mind that politicians say a great many things. There were three mercenaries, two Rivaini men, and a female that spoke with an accent that could only be paired to Orlais. The captain had hired them as guards, though exactly what there was on board that the captain thought needed guarding was unknown. Perhaps there was nothing at all, and the captain merely sought to keep his passengers in line. Three men kept to a corner and remained concerned primarily with their own affairs, and the mercenaries kept an eye on them- no doubt expecting trouble. The most commanding figures though, were the Templars. Having been transferred from Ferelden, they were bound for Kirkwall to help reinforce an as of yet unnamed Knight Commander. One was an incredibly tall and imposing man, almost ridiculously so- with clean dirt brown hair done up in a ponytail that he had rested over one shoulder. He conducted himself with a self righteous air akin to arrogance, almost to the extent that he was a constant nuisance to others. Clearly, Templars sought fighters over rational minds. The woman was a significantly less haughty sort, whose face resembled something like a mature dragon had stomped on and summarily crushed the face of a mabari. This defect was offset by her well tempered and mellow character. Calm and collected, but never cold. She was by far the more approachable of the two, and was the one who initiated the conversation. _I hear the good captain won't be joining us._

The Orlesian mercenary looked at her. _Eez eet a surprise? Ee 'as much to do._

_That may well be Juillet, but I would expect a man of his reputation to be a bit less misanthropic a host._

_I would be happy if he showed up and proved to us his existence._ Said one of the elves, black haired- Athras by name.

Me_n are allowed zer singularies._ She replied with a look of disgust. _And I vuld remind you to keep ton place, couteau-_

_English, if you please._ Said the taller Rivaini (Ernest, by name.)

The arrogant Templar, Smelost (how he came by such an irregular name was a mystery) added his own bit to the conversation. _As long as I'm around, I dare say all these fine people have all the company they need. Who needs a captain?_

_As long as you're around, I daresay we'll have more than we want to of your company._ Both Templars and the Orlesian eyed Sarah at her boldness. The Rivaini and the elf returned to conversing with their respective companions. Smelost, seeing the jest, smiled.

_And with your tongue we'll have all the jests we need, my pretty blond thing. If you ever fear an apostate is near, just find me and I'll take care of it._

Juillet scoffed. Smelost's colleague looked at him with an eyebrow raised. _You know, there were nearly a dozen Templars in Ferelden betting that you wouldn't be able to tell an apostate if it stared you in the face and screamed I'M A MALEFICAR!_

_You see Elise?_ His eyes brightened at the thought as he talked with his colleague. _I made nearly a dozen Templars lose a bet!_

_You've caught apostates then._ This one came from the dwarf, who spoke in dark cordial tones that structured themselves in such a way so as to make his words both a question and a statement at the same time, whilst lacing his doubts into the fabric of the phrase he had uttered. One had to commend him on his ability to show doubt without direct expression, and to issue challenge without a challenge being issued.

Smelost looked at the dwarf as a flash of anger seared across his face. _I will- you can be sure of that._

The dwarf looked at him with the deep blue eyes that dimly shined. It was hard to make out his expression past the mane of bleach blond hair and the beard he wore on his face. _You had best do that then._

Smelost might have said something, but Sarah chose that moment to scream _I'M A MALEFICAR! at the top of her lungs._ An abrupt, forced, and very tense silence followed, the three in the corner turned their heads. Then everyone burst out in a fit of laughter, save for Mahariel, the dwarf, and Elise. Mahariel kicked Sarah under the table, a gesture that was noticed by the dwarf, who began to stare at Mahariel. Elise followed the dwarf's gaze and it was apparent to see the mechanisms of her clockwork Templar mind hard at work, though the conclusion she came to was unclear. She eventually smiled after the laughter died down. _An appropriate jest... Sarah, is it?_

_The last that I knew._

Elise nodded then looked at Mahariel, her face unreadable. _And not everyone was moved by it._ Conversational, cordial, questioning?

_Some people take little pleasure in such humor- I am surprised that a Templar would._ She looked straight at Smelost, the power of her stare something that made the Templar decidedly uneasy. _It's all in good fun._ He said boldly, not betraying his discomfort.

_Not to me._ Mahariel replied and looked back to her plate. _Some people know real evil, Templar. Maybe you should open a book and remind yourself what that insignia on your armor stands for._

Mahariel saw the suspicion fade from Elise's face, but there was still some there, and it would be shared, there could be no mistake about that. Would her fellow Templar listen? Surely not. Said fellow Templar was much more occupied with what he perceived as a scathingly bitter back-handed jest that had been thrown at him. (In actuality it was direct, and it was not a jest.) _You take your humor at my expense, then?_

Sarah noted that transparent false smile as it pulled at Mahariel's lips briefly. _It was not humor._

_Then you would make a mockery of me?_

_She doesn't have to._ Cut in the noblewoman. _You make a mockery of yourself._ One of the two elves snickered at this, but withering glares from both Juillet and the noble shut them up. Mahariel, unlike them, had won herself the capacity to say what she willed without being harassed, to an extent. She had won this through her manner, a certain air about her commanded that one should show her at least a modicum of respect. The same could not be said for the other two elves on board. She looked at the Orlesian and then the noble respectively. _The last two blights were defeated by two elves._ It was an observation that said all that needed to be said.

Mahariel stood up and walked out of the room. Those assembled at the table watched her leave, two of the characters in the corner paid it unusual and excessive mind, but this went unnoticed. Ernest shrugged and looked at Sarah. _So, what exactly is her problem?_

_You're asking me?_

_You've been with her the most, so I don't think it's unreasonable._ A smile pulled at his lips.

Sarah looked at the door and then back at Ernest. She strikes me as one of those people that the more you know about them, the harder they are to understand.

Ernest nodded in agreement. The dwarf issued a brief and guttural _Hmph!_ and got up and walked out of the room. No one asked what his problem was, because everyone already knew that nobody knew the answer. Instead, Sarah looked at the door again and then at the Templars. _At least you have a guarantee he's not a mage._ She remarked casually.

_Indeed._ Said Smelost in a whimsical tone.

_Indeed._ Remarked Elise in a more reflective manner. She then leaned over and whispered something in Smelost's ear that no one could hear. The two then got up and left the same way Mahariel and the Dwarf had taken. Sarah felt compelled to watch them go. When the door had closed she looked at Juillet. _I guess I know how to empty a room._

_Eh! Mais we 'ave lost naught but quatre!_

_English please._ Repeated Ernest.

_Sorry, four._

The elf named Athras looked around tentatively and then cleared his throat. The voice he spoke in was weak relative to what had been expected, and what had been expected was precious little. _Um... excuse me?_

The Orlesian and the noble both looked at him with contempt. _What?_

_Did anyone see those fellows in the corner leave?_

Everyone looked and saw that they were indeed gone, and no one there could remember watching them leave. The eventual conclusion was that they had slipped out sometime after Laryn had left but before the Templars had departed. Those assembled were baffled by their apparent disappearance and, as Sarah pointed out- _A vanishing act like that takes talent._

Mahariel paced the decks of the ship restlessly with the sun soaring high overhead. She felt the occasional flecks of salted water spray her when the ship was hit by a particularly large wave. She felt the intense rays of the sun keeping her warm. She would be a liar to say she wasn't bothered, but that was nothing new. A few crewmen were on deck, but they paid her no mind. But she did mind them, so she went to the stern of the ship and looked back out to where Ferelden lay somewhere beyond the horizon. She remembered the fierce screams, perhaps even savage, of a circle apprentice as three abominations began to create another of their kind. The sparks had been blinding at first, but then the light was gone, leaving only the piercing shrieks of utter agony as the apprentice writhed on the icy stone floor. She had had to watch as the unnatural purplish flesh began to swell up around the upper body, as the body warped to the demon's will, becoming little more than a sack of sickly purple flesh. And then the screaming stopped, and it was over. Everything had ended for that mage. The thing stood erect, silent, and regarded her with the two other abominations. Then Uldred turned around with a look of perfect contentment. Few things had pleased her more that year than carving that thing apart, saving the few mages that were left.

She had no place for humor that derived itself from the darker aspects of existence. There was no humor to be had in such things. She began to pace back and forth again. That Sarah had had the nerve to say that... and that the templar had had the audacity to laugh, infuriated her beyond measure. She reminded herself that Sarah was not herself, and was of a lighter nature. She shook her head and slammed her fist on the railing at the thought of trying to protect one so recklessly stupid. The resulting pain that shot up her arm was nothing to her, she even took a modicum of pleasure in it. Then came footsteps behind her and she turned around. A few moments later the three men from below deck were standing before her. She said nothing, they said nothing. The first among them looked at her with a strange look on his face. Like a Predator studying prey. Mahariel's face could not be interpreted in any way, save that a deep sadness and blazing fury were both present behind her eyes, dwelling somewhere on the precipice of the deepest depths of her soul.

_It's dangerous to wander the decks alone._ Remarked the leader. Mahariel continued to look at him without response, though something in her face twisted itself so as to say without words the simple phrase: _Get on with it._ And he did.

_It would be best for such a pretty thing as you to be below deck. In a quiet room with a friend, if you catch my drift._

A sneer pulled at Mahariel's lips and she let darkness fall into her eyes, it was an attempt at intimidation. _You would do better to go below deck and leave me be._

_Tut tut tut, such hostility._ A malignant glint fell into his eye. _And it wounds me so!_ The two men behind him took a step forward each. Mahariel took a step back towards the railing. The leader smiled. _Perhaps you will give the correct reply this time, mmm? It is best for such a pretty thing to be below deck, with a friend._

Her face darkened more and the other two shrunk back a little at the sight, slowly becoming aware of a strangely vague feeling in the air, as if it were a series of small knives sliding over them, cutting them constantly, though there was no bleeding. The leader felt it too, but did not shrink back. Mahariel spoke in a quiet voice that carried power. _Earn what you take, if you would have it._

The leader snickered, unphased by the threat. _With pleasure._

He took two steps towards her and attempted to grab her arm. What followed was so short in execution that the other two men could barely trace it. She grabbed the leader's arm, and unceremoniously jerked it to fling his entire body over the railing, spraining his wrist as she did so. She grabbed him as he was falling and was then holding him at a precarious angle by the ankle, her left hand being the only thing keeping him from falling into the water face first. She pulled him back up a bit and let him drop so that he was merely leaning over the rail with her hand pinioning him against it. The air grew worse, like someone was drawing razor blades continuously across his skin so as to shave it off, whatever the vague feeling was before had become definite and unbearable. As she leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear, he began to contort slightly with the pain of it, as did his fellows. He clung to her every word as she spoke, softly. _Do you feel that? I do... it is nothing to me._ She let the words sink in before continuing. _Unless you would have me hurl you into the waters below, you will leave me be._ She neither asked for nor required a reply, she simply jerked him to his feet and sent him sprawling with one smooth motion. He got shakily to his feet, and then the three ran as if death itself were hunting them. She frowned. Other people with a Reaver's talents might have reveled in the altercation. She took absolutely no pleasure in it at all. She resumed pacing briefly, then noted that one of the men had dropped what looked like a small dagger. She picked it up and examined it. A ray of sunlight caught it and blinded her in one eye. She turned abruptly and hurled it out to sea, where it would sink into the depths, never to be seen again.

She turned and began to walk back below deck. Why was it that the world was so determined to plague her with such things? She had grown weary of them long ago, but still they came, and that made her angry. A lot of the time she just wanted to cast her arms aside never to be lifted again, but her knowledge was stronger than her hopes, and told her that that would never be an option. She would be fighting until the day she met her end, and even that day would likely be drenched in blood.

Passing a door below decks she caught whispers of the two Templars and stopped to listen.

_I say it again Smelost, there is an apostate on board this ship, and I think that elf Laryn is the one, or at least she knows who is._

_Ah, but you are paranoid Elise._

_No._ There was urgency in her voice that was easy to find. _I assure you there is an apostate on board, I did not get my first suspicions today. She spends most of her time alone, and we cannot account for her actions during that time._

_The dwarf does the same, it is not so unusual._

_Perhaps, but does that explain her conduct today? I can accept her explanations, but that does not alleviate my concerns._

_Your concerns are groundless, I can assure you there are no apostates on board. They wouldn't have the gall to stay on a ship with Templars._

_You put too much stock in your title, we must be vigilant. If magical harm comes to anyone on this ship, then it is on our hands._

_Then I suppose that watching her couldn't hurt._

_That is all that I am suggesting at present._

Mahariel cursed silently and strode off to find Sarah. She had been wary of discovery before, but was now doubly so. It would be a cruel twist of fate to come this far in protecting her self appointed charge only to fail less than five days from Kirkwall. She was not prepared to let that happen. She thought then of the ruffians that had accosted her on deck. The talents she had employed in fighting them off could easily be mistaken for magic, as the relation was very close. She cursed again. It should not be this complicated just to take a ship to a city. Then again, she knew that it was the better part her fault for making it so. That was of absolutely no consolation at all.

Either way, something had to be done.


	4. Chapter 4

_**En Route to Kirkwall (2nd Aspect)**_

Sarah was blissfully lolling on the bed in her cabin, beautifully humming a tune she had heard long ago, but could never remember where. The room was very dark, but she did not mind such a triviality overmuch. Light was at her fingertips if she but desired it for even the briefest of moments. It was a benefit of being a mage. Though precarious, she fully enjoyed the entirety of her position. Her curiosity was like that of a child's, insatiable about the things on the ship. Next to that ruffians, flirtatious crew members, even the Templars were irrelevant. The only thing she really, truly, dreaded was that the ship should sink, as she hadn't the faintest idea at all how to swim. This notion naturally calls into question why she would flee the Templars by sea, but as mentioned before, Sarah is not known for exercising the better part of what normally passes for reason. She reached the refrain of her tune as the ship took a rather more violent upheaval (the waves had grown stormy soon after the noon meal) and a lock of her sand blond hair fell before one of her emerald green eyes. The refrain was more or less something like this:

_Gardener, gardener, bring me a rose_ _see that it's red, that it's green, that it grows._ _And should it be hurt in the pulling_ _please weep a tear, because it's sad._ _But if it's pulled free without harm,_ _A warm smile shall span my face!_ _Oh gardener, gardener, please bring me a rose?_

She hadn't known love before, but that did not stop her from humming the tune. Why should it? An observer need not know well the subject of an artwork to appreciate it. Thinking of that, Sarah remembered that was one of the things Irving had taught her during her brief apprenticeship at the circle. He had been a kind man, though not without his defects. She felt lucky to have come to the tower after the Hero of Ferelden had saved it from abominations, because she did not wish to partake in that trouble. It was a strange twist of fortune that the Templars should catch her at age fifteen, and take her to the tower instead of executing her outright. That her fortune should stretch further so as to allow her to narrowly miss the trouble that plagued the tower was even stranger. She knew she had an inherently vast quantity of luck, and thanked the maker for it routinely.

She had sometimes asked Irving what the Hero of Ferelden had been like, but he had never given much of an answer to that query, citing that he barely knew her himself. He would say that she was a brave and good elf, and that more people owed her their lives than most people meet in a lifetime. He would then direct her to return to her studies. She would often wonder therafter what she would do if ever she met a person like that.

Laryn flung the door open hard enough force for it to bang against the wall and slam shut again and Sarah jumped badly enough to nearly fall off of the bed. _What is your problem?_ She ejaculated in a frenzied voice. She could see the spark of fury burning in Laryn's eyes, and was greatly disturbed by it. It was not the notion that Laryn was angry, but what she could be angry about that was unnerving.

_How can you possibly expect to reach Kirkwall on this ship when you insist on being so recklessly stupid?_ Hissed Laryn. She leaned in closer until her left eye was directly in front of Sarah's right. Sarah could see the fury burning in it, but there was more than that, excluding always present sadness that veered on the edge of perception. _The Templars suspected an Apostate was on board before, and now they find their suspicions all but confirmed! They will search, and how do you intend to evade that?_

Sarah was not entirely scared, but rather unnerved. She quickly regained her composure and said in her usual, slightly satirical melodic tone: _I have a great deal of natural charm. I'm not exactly helpless either. It also helps that I don't run around wearing a nightdress._

Laryn shook her head and began pacing back and forth in a frenzy. _Count it in your favor that they think I'm the one they hunt, or you would have no chance._

Sarah's face widened with surprise. _Why would they think that?_

_If you didn't know me, and were told that I was a mage, would you believe it?_ She looked directly at Sarah with those eyes whose fury of passion already seemed to be withdrawing.

_If given more than a finger point, certainly._

Laryn shook her head. _The Templars think they have exactly that._ She paused and stopped pacing. _Regardless, that is no matter. My innocence of their perceived crime does not alter your guilt. Take me if you can._

_What?_

_You heard me!_ Laryn snapped. _You say you can handle yourself, prove it. Beat me in a fight. Right here, right now._

_Why?_

_Do you think you can best those Templars if you can't even best me? Now, have at me!_

_But I'm a mage, not a warrior._

_Then use magic._ She hissed in a frustrated tone.

Sarah saw that Laryn would in no way be deterred from her ultimatum and tried to cast a spell to stun her. Much to her surprise, the magic wouldn't flow. The mana would well to the surface, but could not break through She realized in that moment what it was like to be an overfilled stopped wine bottle. She tried even harder, but that did not help, it instead resulted in an extreme discomfort. She put all her will into breaking the magical chokehold but found that she simply could not break it. It was like trying to move a mountain by pushing it with her bare hands. She realized what was happening and fixed her now scared gaze on Laryn. She took a step back in shock and almost bumped into the bed. How could the only ally she could rely on on this vessel be a Templar?

She didn't have time to puzzle this question however, as Laryn promptly sprang forth with speed Sarah's eyes could barely follow. She ducked clumsily out of the way and then raised her arm to deflect the next blow. Laryn did not make a strike, but instead grabbed Sarah's arm and pinioned her to the wall. _You've lost._ She said.

Sarah ignored that as Laryn released her and then turned to face the other way. _You're a Templar._

Laryn shook her head. _No._ She said nothing as Sarah sat down on the bed. _I met an ex-Templar once, and he agreed to teach me some of the Templar skills in direct violation of his vows. I learned the skills initially from him, and have been practicing with them ever since. There's nothing more to be said._

Sarah stood up, incredulous. _Yes there absolutely is more to be said! Why did he teach you? Where did you meet him? What are you even doing here?_

_I refuse to speak of that!_ Snapped Laryn coldly. Sarah felt like she had been slapped in the face and sat down on the bed again. Laryn stood there for many minutes, still as a tree in breezeless air. Eventually she gave out a deep sigh and sat down next to Sarah. She placed her elbows on her knees, folded her hands together, and stared at the crack of light beneath the door. One might have thought she was praying. When she spoke again it was in a whisper, all the anger seeming to have fallen out of her voice into some void never to return again. I'_m sorry Sarah. I... I don't speak of my past much. It has some redeeming qualities, but it is ultimately a tragic tale I never wish to speak of._ The gap left in her voice by the withdrawal of anger was being filled by sadness, it seemed. _Know that you can trust me. I have no will to do you harm._

Sarah thought about that for a long time. The thick thumping footsteps of the dwarf traced by outside and down the hall. _Think you'll ever tell me about that past? I would still like to know._

She shook her head. _We probably won't know each other long enough for me to be ready to talk about it._ She paused and then stood up. She didn't look back as she walked out of the room, letting the door swing slowly shut behind her. Sarah was reminded of what she had told Laryn before: that she could seem compassionate in one breath and bitter in the next. The entire exchange reminded her of that aspect of Laryn's character. She was more curious than ever what sort of mind paired with what sort of circumstance could produce that sort of individual. She found an inherent appeal in what to her was the enigma that was Laryn. She wasn't fully certain if she wanted it unraveled though. Laryn to her felt a little like faith, never to be understood but always to be trusted. And yet she knew the arts of a Templar...

Elise sat at a desk in her room, rhythmically pounding her left fist into her right with the undulations of the ship. Her elbows were propped on the surface, and a candle cast the lines of her face into a very unforgiving light. She had sent Smelost off to ask some of the crew members about Laryn, as she spent a great deal of time alone on deck. With any luck, he would come back with something one way or the other. She wanted to believe there were no apostates on board, but Laryn was simply too uncomfortable whenever the topic of magic was brought up for her to believe that. Smelost had wanted to accost the elf directly, but that was a bad plan. Elise had seen apostates cornered before, if their will was stronger then that of the Templars hunting them, it could easily turn disastrous. That Laryn was possessed of an immensely powerful willpower she was not prepared to question. Besides, even were Laryn not the apostate, interrogating her could easily tip off a real one that she was on to them. This was all null though, as there was no solid substance behind her suspicions, and she required at least some before acting on them. To this sentiment Smelost had told her she had no business being a Templar. This reminded Elise of what Laryn had said to him earlier: _"Some people know real evil, Templar. Maybe you should open a book and remind yourself what that insignia on your armor represents."_ She wasn't sure what to make of that.

The candle had nearly melted into a puddle and she snuffed it out with her fingers. Nothing was getting done while she sat there, and the Chantry's work needed doing. She was nearly to the door of the dwarf's room before she realized that she had referred to it as the Chantry's work, not the Maker's. She thought about that as she knocked.

_Intrude._ Answered the dwarf in a voice that was either like velvet or a tenor, yet with a certain harshness to it that was hard to place. She eased the door open and saw him writing vigorously on a sheet of vellum. She could not make out the outline of his skull behind his savage mane of bleach blond waist length hair. Sarah asked if she should close the door and the dwarf nodded. _Sit there if you will._ .He said pointing to a plain wooden chair when the operation was completed. She sat down as he grabbed a sheet of blotting paper and placed it over his writings. He did not cease in his operations as he asked why she was there. _I wanted to ask you a few things, but should we not be introduced first?_

The dwarf scoffed. _Meghren. Yours?_ He was much more gruff than he had been earlier, but the eloquence was still there.

_Elise. Elise DeWulff._ She answered.

_Related to the Arl Wulff?_

_Not to the best of my knowledge._

The dwarf shrugged. _I should have expected it._ He folded his arms and surveyed her briefly. _Ask your questions then._ He removed the blotting paper and then studied his work carefully. He nodded in satisfaction and set the blotting paper on fire by putting it to a candle. He then placed it in a bowl and turned to face Elise again. His expression was veiled beneath his hair and beard, leaving only his eyes to judge his mood, and those were passive. Elise wondered if he was paranoid, and if so, why. That was not her concern, however. _I want to know what you think of the elf Laryn._

_I have no qualms with her._

_None at all?_

_That's what I said._ Replied Meghren abrasively.

_Have you ever seen her doing anything you would consider strange?_

Meghren leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. Everythi_ng topside is strange._

_You're from Orzammar then?_

_Meghren nodded. Been topside seven years._

_And you're still not used to the surface?_ She was polite enough in asking the question, but all things considered it wasn't really a polite question and Meghren seemed to take offense. I_ was in Orzammar longer._

Elise apologized and asked him why he had left. _Political intrigue cast me out._ Was all that he gave in way of answer. Elise was sorely tempted to ask more of what had happened, but that was not directly relevant to her purpose, so she tried to steer the conversation back in a direction that was. _Earlier today, at the table. Sarah made her jest and everyone laughed whilst you stared at Laryn, why did you do that?_

A look of realization passed into the dwarf's features, but he continued with his gruffly concise manner. _She had kicked her neighbor._

Elise waited for more but the dwarf didn't give any. She made a gesture with her hand for him to continue which he ignored, instead staring at something behind her on the wall. She prompted him verbally: _And...?_

_I was curious why._ Did you have any ideas?

_Then I wouldn't be curious._

Elise realized that interviewing the dwarf would not take her anywhere. She did not think he was lying but his continuation of his habit of not speaking more than five consecutive words was getting to her. That, and she now felt she had stronger grounds upon which to believe that Laryn was an apostate, and she was content to have found even that much. She thanked him for his time and showed herself out of the room. A short time later she was back in her own, carefully penning out her thoughts on a sheet of low grade parchment. She found herself wishing she had some of the dwarf's high quality vellum. It was a bit much to ask for in the circumstance, however. She finished and went off to search for Smelost, wherever he might be.

Meghren was glad to be rid of the Templar. He had no special contempt for her, but sorely disliked intrusions. If everyone on board would just leave him be when he wanted to be left be, he felt that he would have no problems with them. As things stood however, he felt he would not care in the slightest if some of those on board fell into the ocean. He guessed that the Templar guessed that Laryn was an apostate, but would not venture that guess himself. Something about that elf was inconsistent with being a mage. That, and he could not shake the overriding feeling that he had seen her somewhere before. The greatest problem was remembering where. That had frustrated him many times over the past nine days. He stared at the small carved tablet mounted on the wall and thought about the matter again. In time he resumed his writing, in a slightly fouler mood for the Templar's unwelcome intrusion. He had apparently forgotten that the Templar had entered with his permission.

Smelost did not knock, he simply pushed the door open and walked into the room. Sarah was sitting on her bed, apparently idle. She was a pretty thing, with her clipped blond hair and emerald green eyes. His heart quickened a step or two and he begged her pardon for the intrusion.

_It's no trouble, did you want something?_

_Mayhap several things, love, but right now I want to know if you think that your elf friend is a mage._ It is safe to say that his straightforward approach did not work in his favor, because Sarah instantly caught both his intended purpose and his feelings towards her. She didn't care for him in the slightest, but was perfectly willing to use said feelings to her advantage.

_Surely not. Why if she were, a cunning Templar like you would be able to tell her as such at once._ She said with a coy smile playing across her lips as she stretched out over the bed. The Templar was baited and hooked with ridiculous ease. She laughed on the inside at the idea.

_You're quite the enchantress yourself, love._ Replied Smelost with a lustful look on his face.

_Ah, but how did you know? I guess my apprenticeship at the circle of magi had its uses after all. To help me to win the attention of such a fine man as yourself._ Smelost blushed, completely enraptured by the flattery. The way she traced a finger over her thigh as she said this probably helped.

Smelost took an involuntary step forward. _No, you've never been there. You don't have one of those absurd dresses..._

_Yes, being dressed is cumbersome._ She replied. Smelost's heart skpped a beat. He tried to think of what to say next but found himself tongue-tied. A broad grin split across Sarah's face as she looked past him at the open doorway. Wh_y hello Elise._ She said cheerfully.

Smelost paused and then a hand jerked him out of the room. Elise slammed shut the door and gave him a slap on the cheek that was extremely painful given the gauntlets she wore. _What in the name of Andraste are you doing?_ She spat furiously. _We are not here to amuse ourselves like a bloody Antivan!_ Smelost was given no time to reply before she was dragging him down the hall.

Inside her room Sarah got up. _Idiot._ She said to herself. That had been ridiculously easy, especially considering she was showing feelings she couldn't have towards him on a fundamental level. She thought of what she had heard of maleficarum controlling minds at the circle. _Who needs blood magic to do that?_ She wondered aloud. Returning to Smelost, he would be back, and she shuddered at the notion. Perhaps seducing him was not the best way to protect her friend. There wasn't a thing to be done about it, of course, but that did not change the fact that her decision had more likely than not been a bad one. It was all toy easy to do, and would most likely be very difficult to undo. She sighed and went up on decks for some fresh air. The sun had been dormant just long enough for its light not to show over the western horizon. Then she thought back to his awkward silence and burst out laughing.

The eleventh day from the start of the voyage threatened a storm, and the dreary overcast sky saw Elise and Smelost on a remote part of the deck, conversing in private. Elise's face was somewhat haggard, having lost much sleep and gained many worries over the past couple days. Smelost's was lined with the usual haughtiness defined by arrogance that was near omnipresent in his features. _I say it again Elise, you are making more of this than it is. I can tell you with absolute certainty that there are no apostates on board this ship._

Elise raised an eyebrow as she remembered the fine example Smelost had shown of his interrogation talents by forgetting his purpose and attempting to seduce one of the passengers. She was still upset by his stupidity, but let it be for the moment. She held herself above personal attacks, and simply reaffirmed that recent events hade done much to convince her that she was right.

_You are free to believe that, but I still maintain that you are wrong, and I am done wasting my time on this nonsense._

He spoke with an air of finality that made Elise want to slap him but she understood that would accomplish nothing. _Have it your way then._ She replied and gestured for him to go. He did so happily and went off to look for Sarah, whom he had not seen since their last encounter. _Maker's breath._ Remarked Elise as she leaned her elbows on the railing and put her head in her hands. She refused to put the passengers on board in danger that could be avoided but... she didn't want to accuse the elf of being an apostate when she had so little other than suspicion. What was there, really? Laryn's tendencies towards isolation and ideas inferred from a dwarf? There had to be more. Or... or maybe she was just paranoid. It came to mind that there were still people on board that she had not talked to, but the three ruffians had been very secretive for the last two days. She found herself believing more and more that they knew something. But they were always moving now, and very hard to talk to.

_Elise._ Elise abruptly pulled her head out of her hands as she recognized the soft tones of Laryn's voice. She turned around and saw the elf leaning against the railing right next to her. That she could be so stealthy made her nervous. She quickly overcame the feeling, however. _Yes?_

I_ know that you think I'm an apostate._ She said simply. Elise's eyes widened a bit and her mouth hung slightly open. In less than ten words, Laryn had shook Elise's beliefs that she was an apostate to the very cores of their foundations. She knew. She knew her suspicions, and had done nothing? Why? What could an apostate gain by not acting when they knew that put them in danger? It made no sense. And why would an apostate wish to be caught, such a thing could only lead to their suffering, tranquility, or perhaps even execution. Elise said nothing for a long time and neither did Laryn. Only the sounds of the rolling waves and distant crew members broke the silence. Laryn looked out at the horizon, her expression unreadable.

Elise swallowed and looked out to the horizon as well. _So then what will you do?_

A faint but common false smile played across Laryn's lips. _I place the next action in your hands Elise. Do what you will, I am no apostate, and have nothing to fear._ That Laryn had been bold enough to confront her was nearly proof enough for Elise to take her at her word. Nearly. There were still three people that she had not talked to yet. Elise shot a sideways look at Laryn then watched a particularly large wave pound the side of the ship. She was still getting used to the sensation of the boat rocking, though the voyage was more than half done. She doubted she would be sailing again soon. Elise paused, then spoke plainly. _For now, I'll do nothing._

Then she turned and walked off to another part of the ship. Mahariel watched her leave and then stared back out to the horizon. She was happy to have found such a brilliantly simple way of shattering Elise's belief of her perceived crime. If luck was on her side, this would be the end of it. She did not count on luck being on her side, however, and would in accordance with that strain of thought remain on guard. All this for an apostate she barely knew. Her familiar humourless smile pulled at her lips at the thought. Thinking back, this was not so unlike what it had been with Anders: a person hunted and persecuted for nothing other than being born what they were. Laryn could empathize with that, finding no place in her heart capable of understanding such a sentiment. It occurred to her that she would just as likely spend the rest of her days fighting such oppression as she would fighting the darkspawn. She thought about that. Darkspawn were absolute evil, not even being capable of good, whereas the oppression came from people that ought to know better. She wasn't sure which was worse sometimes.

She suddenly found herself once more en route to the cave with Merrill and Fenarel. Silence reigned supreme, overlord of all that which was at one point a warm and familiar place, the forest. It was all too hostile since the mirror. She remembered the first darkspawn she had ever seen, shorter that her by nearly a head, perhaps even two, but tremendously powerful. She had but to look at it to see the blackness it wrought. Even as the beast smiled as she ran it through after a brief fight she could not shake the impression its evil had made upon her. It was as if it had pumped ice into her veins, a chill that she could not outrun, that she could not escape. It would only break when she met her second, to be replaced by an intense fury that saw her hack the thing apart even after it was already dead. Merrill had gotten scared and almost had to pull her away from the corpse. _"It's over Mahariel, there's no sense wasting yourself on it now."_

Mahariel had spun around to face her, her rage towards the thing being undiminished. _"I would do more."_ She said slowly, coldly, then led them the rest of the way to the cave. She had gladly slaughtered every darkspawn that crossed her blade, not even bothering to think of the consequences as she leapt forward to kill fiend after fiend. When the last one lay dead with its head loppped clean from its shoulders she had pushed open the door to the mirror chamber, and there had been Duncan. She remembered his calmness, his manners, and how it had bred in her an instant dislike for the man. How could one speak of such events with such coldness? And then they had discussed Tamlen, and she knew in that moment that she would never like Duncan, and more likely than not hate him therafter. Had he so little compassion that he could speak so listlessly of things so dear? Had he never known once what it was to lose a loved one? Was he heartless to not understand? Yes was her answer, and it would be weeks before she could acknowledge otherwise. His manner had upset her near to the point where she wanted to strike him, but what was the use? She instead settled to scour what was left of the ruin top to bottom while Duncan went back to the camp. She did not know how much time she spent in there. Merrill first told her that it would be best to head back, as Tamlen was gone. Fenarel had begged her to head back so as not to worry the keeper. She had ignored all, driven in a cold fury coupled with a single minded determination that if physical would be as immovable as the earth itself. But then there came that moment, that single moment of murderous resolution, of a dark epiphany so omnipotent light could not pierce its shroud to the heart of the thing. It was only the truth, the reality, a reality left unpaired with any redeeming value: Tamlen was gone. She had found herself forced to accept that, and that had been the end. All the emotion simply fell out of her, and she was as nothing.

Only faint stirrings of what could almost be feeling were capable of manifesting themselves, and only able to do so in incidents of extreme provocation. Speaking with Ashalle of her mother, that aroused something that might have been sadness diluted to an opaque peripheral sensation. She had asked Paivel to prepare a service for Tamlen on the keeper's behalf, and that felt to have nearly killed her. Then Duncan had made his offer with a simple directness that was like salt to her injured self.

She had said nothing but simply studied his face through unfeeling eyes. It was an invitation, an invitation that would take no refusal. How could the keeper condone this? It was not possible, to be sure. Could she not see how she was suffering, and would she crush her all the more by casting her away? She had looked at the keeper's face, and seen that this was indeed so. That was it, there was no emotion, she no longer cared, she wasn't even thinking on a conscious level. She simply accepted Duncan's offer in a voice that autonomously implicated her knowledge of the ultimate lack of choice and her hatred at the keeper towards it. It would be weeks before feeling came back to her, and by that time they were nearly to Ostagar. From there it would be nearly seven years before her bitterness at the affair finally shattered. And then there she was, leaning against that ship rail.

She took a deep breath of the salted air then slowly let it out. All that was going to be resolved soon, she could explain herself to Marethari, let her know how sorry she was to have turned her back on clan. She felt warm inside at the thought. There was still the immediate matter of Sarah, of course. But that now seemed a small thing. She promised herself they would both reach Kirkwall safely, and that she would find the clan afterwards. Perhaps Sarah would even come, if she were so inclined. Mahariel carefully withdrew the dark polychromatic sky ball from her cloak and slowly twisted it in her hand, humming quietly a song Paivel once sung to her about the passage of winter to spring. When she reached the end she placed a light kiss on the skyball and put it away. She knew she would later reflect on these events again and be bitter, but was happy with the peace she had temporarily found. It was more than she was accustomed to.

Brennard was crouched over a crate with the two other ruffians in the cargohold on the thirteenth night. It was projected they would arrive in Kirkwall in a matter of hours, and this made him feel safe. Smuggling stolen lyrium sand was not easy, after all. There were so many things that could go wrong, not the least of which being that lyrium sand was incredibly volatile. In truth he felt nervous just checking on it with his comrades. _You open the box._ He hissed to his second, a man with copper red hair that he did not know the name of. His wrist still hurt fiercely from the encounter with Laryn, almost as much as his pride was. He would get that bitch back, and soon. But he needed to heal first. His comrades were very apprehensive of the idea, and seemed to believe her to be a mage. He certainly believed it, the way the air itself had turned against them. He shuddered to remember. He wouldn't talk to the Templars unless confronted though, for he was a man whose pride would not suffer him to confess being beaten in such a manner. He would be content to avenge himself on the bitch when the circumstances aligned themselves properly. Oh how he would relish in that moment...

His mind returned to the task at hand as his second pulled off the lid of the box, and there was the sand. Still intact, not about to explode. He breathed a sigh of relief and hoped the Tal-Vashoth that had requested the theft would keep his word. He didn't care what the Kossith did with the sand, but oh the gold! How handsome it would be. He might be able to get some proper attention, instead of trying to have his way with some lowly elven serf on a boat. Or maybe he'd have both, he was not sure. Did it matter? Either way, he would be the victor of the situation.

Satisfied, he waved for his two followers to replace the box in its hiding place beneath the floorboards. He then systematically led them to each of the nine other boxes and they examined each in turn. The minor hitch with the elf aside, things were going spectacularly well. He felt unstoppable. He was unstoppable. He was just over a few hours away from more money than he had fingered in a lifetime. Fifty sovereigns, and that was just his share. If the three of them kept together, they might even be able to make it into the big time, maybe even put Kirkwall's Coterie to shame, though he wouldn't want to push his luck that far. He knew to let things run their own course when things were going his way.

The last box was replaced and he smiled. _Gents, by tomorrow afternoon we will be rich men, mark my words._ The other two nodded in assent and he placed a hand on his heart. They had almost died smuggling the sand out of the Vigil, the Knights of the Silver Order had well earned their reputation, but here they were. The nostalgia of the moment nearly made him giddy. He could scarce wait for the voyage to be over. As for the men he had killed so that they could impersonate them on the voyage, what of it? No one on board would catch word until after the ship came back to Gwaren, and by that time they would be long gone from Kirkwall. He was perfectly content to be triumphant. Only his humiliation at the hands of that knife-eared bitch could lessen his spirits, and the notion that she might be a mage made him frown. Perhaps the Templars should be informed, for safety's sake. Being human, the strength of word was his, what could be the harm?

He thought about it some more, then made up his mind, he would deal with the sand first, and the elf later. A feeling like ice ran through his veins and the lantern affixed to the ceiling went out. _What was that?_ One of his comrades asked. _Gust of air._ He replied, though he doubted that very much. _Let's go._

The two Templars were once more at council in Elise's room. They had both felt it during the afternoon, they could both sense as the veil atrophied sharply around them as they drew closer to the city. But that it should degrade so noticeably so fast, it made one uneasy to think of it. What had the city suffered to have the veil so damaged so far away? They both felt the ice chill just moments before, and Elise was under the distinct impression that a demon had already crossed and was on board the ship. Smelost of course was unphased, citing that he would strike down any demon that had the nerve to enter the physical world. _That is not the point._ Snapped Elise, almost fed up with Smelost's nonsense. _Everyone on this boat is in danger, including us. We must keep our vigil constantly now, and I feel it would be prudent to remove all dangers, that includes apostates._

_You want to dispose of the elf then?_

Elise shook her head. _No, I want her restrained and under constant watch, so that we might know if she is to become an abomination._ Smelost scoffed and reiterated that she was paranoid, but Elise waived this and was intent on proceeding. Her instincts as a Templar and protector had at last overridden her objectivity. She remembered Laryn's boldness and the doubts it had placed in her, and those doubts were still there, but that no longer mattered. The difficulty was, how was Laryn to be restrained? Something in the elf still made Elise distinctly uneasy about approaching her, and Smelost would be of little help in such a confrontation. Perhaps the mercenaries could be of help? No, that was nonsense, they were on board for an entirely different affair. She had not yet talked to the ruffians though. She came to that realization abruptly and scolded herself for it at once. Stupidity at its grandest to be sure, or at least absentmindedness, a fault she had never claimed before. She resolved to have their opinions, and to have them at once, so she went off to find them, leaving Smelost somewhat dazed in the therafter empty room. Rain thudded outside, but it was beyond her field of hearing. She would know the ruffians minds, and then she would have their help in restraining the elf. To her there was no more to it than that.

She found them just outside the cargo hold, apparently leaving. _What were you doing in there?_ She demanded brusquely but not harshly. She didn't wait for an answer before saying _Never mind that now, I have questions for you._ The leader of the three looked at his cronies, then nodded. _Of course._ He said. The other two remained silent.

_I want to know what you think of the elf Laryn._ She said simply, discarding her usual more gradual manner in a way Smelost may have been proud of. Awkward silence ensued. Elise heard Smelost's footsteps on the floor above tracing towards Sarah's room. She shook her head and silently branded him an idiot beyond any redemption. _Well?_ She prompted when she felt that they had been too slow in answering. The leader exchanged a brief look with each of his comrades for assurance then looked at her. Was that a smile? _The bitch tried to kill me, and she's a maleficar to boot._ He answered quickly, viciously.

Finally, there was something substantial upon which to hold her. She did not ask more but simply appropriated the help of the three men, who were for whatever reason more than willing to lend a hand. She still had no absolute proof of her suspicions, but had nonetheless come close enough to act on them. There would be no execution, not on this ship, but she would more than happily kill her if she resisted arrest. The first goal was to alert all those aboard the ship of the danger and fetch Smelost. With any luck she would be caught quickly. The four walked by a shut door as Elise began barking orders with the authority only a Templar could possess. Maker help her, she would not fail in her duty to her fellow passengers.

Sarah thoroughly regretted her earlier decision to play off of Smelost's attractions, as she was incapable of genuinely returning them on a fundamental level. Now it was a thorn wedging itself in her foot as he tried to coax her, albeit gently, into subordination. He was inordinately frustrated, and near the end of his short patience, but nonetheless did not show it as she commented on his armor as looking like a tin cup half melted in a smelter. He was about to retort when Elise kicked the door in with enough force to send it flying from the hinges and relayed her findings to Smelost. Both Templars and (were those the ruffians?) three others left in a hurry, leaving Sarah alone with herself and dreadfully afraid for her friends safety. She had to find her, to warn her, she was not prepared to suffer harm to Laryn on her account. She got up and ran out of the room, she had to find the elf before the Templars did.

She should have known it. She should have known it from the moment she set foot on this ship that things could not go smoothly. And what she didn't know then had become the truth now. Mahariel shook her head as she shifted the heavy desk in her room. She had heard the Templar run by, caught fragments of what she had said, and wasted no time. She leaned over the desk to see behind it and carefully retrieved both Starfang and Topsider's Honor. Starfang immediately resumed pulsing blue the moment her hand touched it. Topsider's Honor looked to have lost none of the sourceless light it was reflecting. She had hid them because prior to now she did not think they would be needed. She still hoped that they wouldn't be. She concealed the weapons as best she could and replaced the dresser. She then pulled up her hood and headed for the cargo hold. It was remote, and not a place she usually went. That, and it was easy not to be seen even if they searched for her there. She considered herself fortunate not to find any resistance on the way down.

It was too dark. The lamp too dim, the air too still. Elise knew the feeling, she had been near demons before, and this was no different. But it was worse, so much worse. It felt as if a faint chill had taken root in her trying to quash her spirit out. She was tempted to say sloth, but that couldn't be. It was too strong, and the manipulation was wrong. Whatever was trying to steer her was playing off of her past glories, urging her to reflect on these instead of the task beforehand. Then it hit her. Pride, pride was on board the ship. She shuddered, hoping desperately the demon was not aware of the mage, but already knowing it was. But why was it following her Smelost and the ruffians then? Demons were supposed to track mages, it made no sense! It was wrong, fundamentally wrong.

She thought she caught shadows moving in the corner of her eye as she ran to the door of the noblewoman's room. Everyone had been alerted of the danger and were presumably on deck except her, the mercenaries probably would not stay there though. Elise tried the door but it was locked. She called once, and then a second time. There was no answer. A certain energy came into the air. Her heart stopped, was she too late? She took a step back and then kicked the door down. It was horrible. Horrible in such a way only a blood mage could commit. There is no need to go into the details of a dismemberment, so it is best to leave that as is. Perhaps worse though, was what was depicted on the wall in blood. It was the insignia of her order, but the blade was broken in half. She caught a breath. Such symbols of sacrilege were rarely seen. Then she looked back to what had once been a woman and the horror truly hit her. She took a step back and collapsed against the wall, faint.

Smelost placed a hand on her shoulder and helped her stand back up, showing a rare emotion other than simple arrogance. _Don't worry love. We'll make sure this is avenged. She won't stand against me, let alone the both of us._ His words were of some comfort as he led her down the hall to the cargohold. It was the only place left below decks to search, so the elf had to be there. He was going to kill her for this. He swore aloud that he was going to kill her.

Elise was not so certain they would be killing anything. The air was still so wrong, too dark, too sinister. And, she couldn't place it, but she knew the demon was amused. Perhaps the elf had summoned it?

_No._ A soft voice whispered inside her head. She shuddered, wondering if the thought was her own.

Too easy. Far too easy. Crossing the veil, the manipulation. All of it too easy. Was he even trying? Toying with the Templars and ruffians, he thought not. But then, they were the easiest to toy with. The mage, the elf, they were of stronger will, far more challenging. But then, if he wanted a challenge, why was he taking the easier path? Because it was more fun. He knew he couldn't keep this up forever. Sooner or later he would need a host or would lose his power. But it was so enjoyable to manipulate them like puppets. And the Ferelden noble, that had been priceless! He had been led to believe that the mortal world was imalleable. So much for that supposition. It was too easy though. True indeed, far too easy. A game almost. Were all mortals this easily fooled, or was it just the proximity to the city? He pondered that as he planted the notions in Smelost's head of where he would find the elf as he led them to her. This was going to be interesting. He had the feeling that the Templar would let him in with horrifying ease, and that was promising. But the mage was in the hold now, was she not? The mage and the elf... two outcasts of the world. Or so he had gleaned from the Templar's minds. How fitting that a mage should like an elf. He would have sneered if he had lips. What would the pair do when confronted with the hurricane he hurled their way? He wondered. He was tempted to become a player himself, and know it first hand. But for the moment he was content to watch and bask in the glory of his manipulations. He loved mind games, and this could make good fun. Still, it was disappointing. Because it was too easy. All was too easy. Such were the thoughts. Such were the thoughts of a demon named Pycha.

Sarah eased open the door to the cargo hold and slipped in. She couldn't place it, but she knew this was where Laryn would be. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the most ideal place to hide? She treaded carefully in amidst the crates to search for her. _Laryn?_ She whispered softly as the door swung shut. _Laryn?_ It was too dark, almost pitch black. She looked to where the lamp was and saw only a faint outline. She cursed softly and kept looking amidst the darkness.

The air was wrong. She was becoming progressively more aware of this as what felt like hours began to pass. It was too cold, too still. Were there enough light for it, she would swear she could see her own breath. Her heart began to pound in her chest. She had felt something like this before, right before she took her Harrowing. Could there be a demon about? Unnerved, she conjured a small light in her hand, just enough to see a few feet ahead, but not enough to be seen from the door, which she had lost track of. She turned another corner and there she was, leaning against a crate in waiting. Laryn looked up, her countenance dark in the poor light. _You're too stupid for your own good. What are you doing here?_

Sarah hesitated. _I wanted to warn you about the Templars._

Laryn shook her head. _I know, you'd best leave. You carry as much guilt as I if you're seen with me._

_That's my problem then, isn't it?_

Laryn looked at her angrily then shook her head. _Fine. Stay or go. If you die here, it's your fault. Not mine._ She faltered towards the end and looked away. _Not mine..._

She didn't say anything for a long time. _We'll be all right._ Sarah reassured her. She reached out a hand to place on Laryn's shoulder for comfort but she threw it off the moment she made contact. _You'd better hide._ Sarah didn't move. One part hurt one part unwilling to leave. She realized the second part only after a few moments of reflection. She wondered what was wrong with her, then attributed it to the loss of her friend back in Denerim. Could she be expected to repeat that?

Laryn looked back at her with a look of fury on her face. _DO IT!_ She half shouted and Sarah unconsciously moved behind a crate some distance away, to where she could not be easily observed but still have a decent view of Laryn. The air began to grow even more sinister, as if forcing the chill upon her. She shuddered and instinctively extinguished her light just as the door to the hold flew open.

_She's in here, I'm sure of it._ She heard Smelost say in the distance. The other Templar muttered a vague assertion and then they were fully inside the room. The door shut with an echoless thud and then there were only footsteps. Sarah listened. There were too many, who else had the Templars brought with them? How thoroughly would they search? What would she do if they found Laryn? She didn't think it would be anything rational. A soft breeze whisked by her though the air was very still. It was almost as if someone had walked by, but that was impossible.

_This way!_ She heard Smelost utter and then the footsteps were drawing closer rapidly. She felt her heartbeat begin to accelerate and began considering various spells that could help. A light was present somewhere closeby and then they were within her field of vision, and Laryn within theirs. There were five of them. Two Templars and the three ruffians from the table. She wondered why the mercenaries weren't there, as they would surely be better fighters.

Elise saw Mahariel and instantly went for her sword. Smelost and the ruffians did the same. Mahariel studied them for a moment, her eyes unreadable. _Am I to be slaughtered as a mage then?_

_Don't toy with us!_ Shouted the lead ruffian, a character she had not seen in a few days. Elise raised a hand to hush him. Smelost spoke next. _You are very perceptive. I hope the Maker counts it in your favor._

He took a step forward and Mahariel withdrew both blades from their respective places of concealment. Topsiders Honor reflected the light of the lamp the last ruffian carried. Starfang was pulsing a bright blue. Mahariel was not going to let this stop her. She would kill these people if she had to, and was more than angry enough to do so without question.

Elise's eyes widened. Whatever she had expected, it was not for her to draw melee weapons. Mahariel saw the doubt flash back into her eyes. Smelost, his usual self, took little notice. _Cross sword with me and I'll have your head Apostate!_

_You're not after her!_ Mahariel froze as she heard Sarah's voice. Did her stupidity know no bounds? This was thought more of exasperation than genuine sentiment. All five of the aggressors turned around as Sarah stepped from behind the crate. One of the ruffians was about to say something when Sarah raised her hand and sent out a telekinetic pulse that sent the three of them flying, they landed somewhere out of sight, evidently knocking loose crates to the floor and spilling the contents. That was if the loud crashes were anything to judge by, of course. A ripple of delight surged through the air. Mahariel knew the demon was present, but could not do a thing until it showed itself.

The Templars were unsure what to do. One of them was obviously keeping Sarah from casting more spells, or perhaps they both were. Elise whispered something in Smelost's ear and then turned around so that they were back to back. One for Sarah and one for Mahariel. Mahariel tensed as her eyes met Elise's. Each was waiting for the other to make a move. Smelost strode up to Sarah as casually as he may, lifting his sword to run it through her. Mahariel couldn't reach them in time, and Elise was still in the way.

Smelost stopped a few feet short. _To think I thought I liked you once. But I guess all apostates are the same. I guess I'll have to settle for doing to you what you did to that woman._ He was silent for a few moments. _This will be painful._

Elise didn't look away from Mahariel as she shouted over her shoulder. _Have you forgotten the demon? Don't egg her on! And don't give it a chance to possess her!_

Smelost laughed at the notion, even then unable to lose his haughty arrogance. _The demon can have at me on whatever level it pleases! I will prove myself more than its match!_

Time stoppped for a moment. There was utter silence, utter lack of motion. Mahariel almost thought she could feel the demon's glee. Everyone realized what was coming next at the same time. A moment later there was a feeling like a hurricane ripping through the air and Smelost dropped to his knees.

Sarah was rooted to the spot, too horrified by what she was seeing to move. Elise turned her head briefly and Mahariel saw the indecision in her face. _You have to kill him now, before the demon gains control!_ Elise looked at her. _I can't just-_

_You call yourself a Templar? Then I will do it myself!_ Mahariel took two steps forward and Elise struck at her, unaware until that moment that she would. Mahariel deflected the blow and continued to do so as Elise went for her again and again. Then Mahariel abruptly dropped Topsider's Honor and caught Elise's sword arm in mid stroke. _Listen to me._ She hissed as Smelost began to scream at ever intensifying volumes. _There's nothing you can do. He's lost. All that can be done is to keep him from doing more damage. Do you understand me? I've seen it before._ Elise was silent for the longest time, then nodded. Smelost fell silent as Mahariel let go of her wrist.

Elise turned as Smelost got to his feet and raised her arm to strike the abomination down. But she was too slow. Smelost pivoted so fast he was blur and sliced both her and her armour open like one would cut cheese with a knife. Elise fell to the ground dead and the abomination began studying the blood on the blade. Then he looked at the blood and corpse on the floor. _Sorry about the mess._ He remarked coldly, without emotion. _Oh wait, I guess I'm not._ He sneered malignantly as Mahariel brought Topsider's Honor back into her hand. _I suppose you will be next then?_

There was a fire in Mahariel's eyes such that one could almost see the flames roaring behind them. _You'll not be the first._ She said cooly.

_Oh I know._ It said calmly. _There's a trail of blood leading to you so wide a wisp could follow it._ He smiled. _Did you enjoy running him through? The only love you'd ever known? Did you enjoy watching him die?_

_I'm going to enjoy watching __**you**__ die._ Mahariel responded.

_Name's Pycha, if that makes a difference._ He sneered, a cat with a plaything in his eyes.

_It doesn't._ And then she leaped forward and the two were locked in a combat so fast and so furious Sarah could barely follow. It was more like a whirlwind of steel. She could not tell who had the advantage, or if either of them had any at all. She wanted to help, but couldn't keep close enough track to make sure she didn't miss. She wished she had studied creation more, that at least was less likely to hurt her friend than a poorly directed blast of fire.

The abomination suddenly broke free and took several steps back. Sarah seized the opportunity to blast it with as much fire as she could conjure. It howled with pain and staggered back, but was otherwise unaffected. An unintended result of the spell was that the floor and several crates caught fire. The abomination looked at her. _You don't want to be doing that. There's lyrium sand under the floorboards._

Sarah saw Laryn turn pale. She didn't know what lyrium sand was, but judging by that reaction, it was bad. Very bad. Then the abomination was after her. And Sarah, knowing she couldn't fight, ran. She could feel the demon behind her as she bolted past crate after crate, praying that she was headed towards the exit. The demon called mocking bellows after her, but couldn't quite seem to catch up. She hoped she didn't miss something on the floor in the near darkness and fall. That would be bad. She blew by a ruffian without even realizing it until she heard the abrupt shout of pain behind her. She swallowed but did not look back. There was no time.

The door was straight ahead. She saw it, she also felt the demon in pursuit. She did not stop to open the door but instead used magic to blast it off its hinges as she approached. The lower decks were empty, though slightly better lit. She wasn't sure why she noticed this as she hurriedly ran up towards the main deck. There was another door in her way at the top of a flight of stairs and this too she blasted off its hinges. Then she was in the open night air with rain pouring down, the taste of salt in her mouth and the smell of it in her nose. She caught the briefest glimpse of tall black cliffs on the horizon as well as several stunned faces before she pivoted around. As soon as the abomination entered the frame she blasted it with ice, freezing it in the doorway.

There were several frenzied shouts at this, including an incomprehensible stream of Orlesian. She ignored them but instead looked at the frozen demon. The ice cracked and then the demon broke free and surged forward again. Sarah ducked out of the way just in time to avoid its blade and struck it again with fire. This time it only smiled. It rushed forward to strike at her again but was caught by surprise when Laryn appeared as if from nowhere. Before anything could be done she leaped upon the abomination and pinned it to the ground, knocking its sword from its hand. She raised both of hers up to plunge into the fiend and end it, but then had to defend herself as the mercenary named Ernest tried to strike at her. _You will not have him you bitch!_ He shrieked with a fury. He was the first of the assembled passengers and crew to act.

She struck back at the mercenary without thinking, and he in turn parried. They might have gone farther, but a sudden burst of energy from the abomination sent them both flying. Mahariel was slammed against the mast and only just managed not to lose her hold on either blade. She couldn't account for Ernest though. She looked around but the abomination was already upon her again, and she had to fight.

The crew remained passive. Juillet led the apostate with her bow, preparing to take the shot. That the other Templar was not present meant she was dead, and that she was actively casting spells in attempts to kill the other was more than reason enough to attack. She saw Ernest get to his feet within striking distance of the apostate but paid little mind, a fatal mistake as it turned out. She loosed the arrow just as he lunged forward to strike down the rogue mage, and the result was that the arrow pierced his jugular. The mage turned abruptly and paled as the man fell in front of her. Juillet cursed and nocked another arrow, but got no farther as she was suddenly hit by a telekinetic blast and sent flying into the sea.

The demon broke out of combat again and he and Mahariel circled each other in turn, both waiting for the other to strike. The crew and passengers looked on in silence. The demon smiled gleefully as a notion came to him. _They cast you away, what makes you think they want you back? He took you, but the keeper condoned it. All they wanted was to get rid of you. Just like all your friends after simply wanted to use you. It-_

_PUT AN END TO YOUR NONSENSE AND FIGHT!_ She shrieked and lunged at the demon who ducked out of reach. _But do I not speak the truth? The apostate values you as a means of evading capture. The witch only wanted you near to gain power. The bard thought she could use you to atone for her past. The Qunari thought the same. I would-_

Mahariel leaped at him again and this time the demon was too slow in ducking away. Her blow caught his shield arm, nearly tearing it off. The demon howled with pain and desisted in provoking her, opting instead to return to a simple fight.

Sarah watched this and wondered to whom the demon was alluding, as she once more found herself unwilling to risk hurting her friend. The dwarf Meghren, also on deck, raised an eyebrow but remained passive. Next to him stood the last of the three mercenaries, too scared to duck into the fray. Behind the pair were the elves, silent and praying to the Maker that it would end soon. The remaining two ruffians had yet to appear on deck, but that was about to change.

Brennard had taken anything of value he could find and left the hold as it began to burn in earnest. He had been happy to see his second at the door and both ran for the decks, Brennard whispering hurried instructions as he did so. _We get up there and we take a lifeboat off the ship. That sand's liable to blow at any moment._ They both reached the deck to find the elf engaged in a furious duel with the Templar, who appeared to be losing. Brennard considered lending a hand, but reconsidered quickly. The elf would surely die when the boat went up, and that was good enough for him. He moved to get to a boat but the crew was in the way. _Dammit._ He muttered to himself.

The demon was beginning to waver. Mahariel could feel it. The wound she had dealt to the arm appeared to be weakening it, but nonetheless it was still more than able to defend itself. For every strike she made at it it was ready with a parry, but they were lessening in resistance. The demon gave a soft hiss and attempted to slam her with telekinetic energy. But it was poorly aimed and cast and she only staggered back several paces. The demon attempted to exploit this but Mahariel backstepped out of reach. In retaliation she used an ability she rarely opted to. The holy smite slammed the demon with such force that it screamed in agony. The problem was that there had been too much power behind it. It punched through the decks right down to the cargohold. Though the demon screamed, it was muffled to silence with what immediately followed.

One of the caches of lyrium sand was hit by the power and detonated instantly. This resulted a chain reaction causing every box in the hold to explode. The combined explosion put even the mightiest explosive Dworkin the Mad ever constructed to shame. The majority of the ship flew apart instantly, catapulting Mahariel, the demon and Sarah out to sea in one direction. The passengers were sent another, towards the cliffs, and the crew were for the most part sent into open water.

Flying through the air, lost to space and time, Mahariel was reminded of the penultimate blow to the archdemon. The way it had thrown her into the air and she brought both Starfang and Topsider's Honor crushing down into the creatures neck. That of course had been a shorter drop though. She caught sight of the demon beneath her as she soared through the air and twisted herself around as best she could. The demon struck the water first, and then she struck it. She shrieked as her eyes went red with the pain of the impact and then gagged as salt and water filled up her lungs. She drew both her swords out of the creatures chest and then kicked to the surface as hard as she could. She tried to breathe too quickly upon reaching the it and instead took in more water. She sputtered for what felt like a long time before regaining her breath. She looked around, her eyes slightly bleared.

A large shaft of wood plunged into the water next to her and sank. Her heart stopped. That was too close. She looked into the sky but couldn't really see if there was more debris falling. She looked back towards what had been the ship to find most of it missing. What was left was lit up in a blue fire that could probably be seen from the cliffs.

The cliffs...

She looked towards where she thought they were She could just make out the outline on the horizon. At least there was a heading. She clumsily placed both her swords back to their secure places beneath the robe. This was done with much difficulty, as the fabric was soaked through and she was struggling to stay afloat. She heard spluttering and cries for help nearby and swam over.

Sarah was floundering badly. _Help me Laryn!_ She cried as she caught sight of her. _I can't swim!_

_Creator's preserve me._ Mahariel said to herself as she caught Sarah under the arm. She asked if she was alright and she nodded. _Aside from being out in the ocean like this, yeah I'm happy._ Laryn shook her head and looked over towards the cliffs. There was really only one place to be going now, and only one way to get there.

Meghren offered the Orlesian his hand and helped her get hold of the fragment of the mast. The two ruffians were already clinging on. There was no accounting for the elves or the last mercenary. _We should go._ Said Juillet simply. _Zey will not have lived. C'est triste, mais-_

_English please._ Said Meghren simply, in a very good impression of the late Ernest.

_Let's just go._ Juillet said. The four of them began kicking. Hopefully they would reach Kirkwall before they all drowned.

What was left of the ship burned on bright blue for a time. Then she slid gracefully into the sea. No one could say how far she fell before finally meeting her final rest upon the ocean floor, the rightful resting place for any vessel with pride.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Kirkwall**_

It took almost every fragment of her remaining strength to pull herself onto the pier. Once there she simply rolled on her back and stayed there heaving for want of air. She didn't even try to sit up and instead looked at the pallid bleak grey sky. She was near literally too tired to stand, but they had made it. In spite of everything, they had made it. She couldn't be bothered to try moving yet for sake of exhaustion, but nonetheless was too happy to care. It was all within reach. The end was within reach.

Sarah leaned against a crate that fortunately hid the two from being seen by anyone at the docks. She was similarly exhausted, but not to near the same degree. She realized she should have by all rights drowned. But she didn't. She made a silent oath to herself then to learn to swim. She looked at the friend who had saved her life, and felt a pang of guilt. She wouldn't be like this if it weren't for her incompetence. _Laryn? _She said timidly.

Laryn looked at her, probably too exhausted to speak. She began wringing her hands. _I… I owe you my life. You're the only reason I made it this far, and you didn't have to do a thing. I- I just wanted to thank you. _The words were entirely insufficient. But she did not know what else to say. She wasn't sure what else she could say. So she left it as it was, as insufficient as it was.

Nonetheless, Laryn gave a small nod in way of answer then looked back to the sky. She was motionless therafter save for the heaving up and down motion of her chest as she breathed. Sarah faced her gaze away to the high stone cliffs then so close that had previously seemed so far. Out on the water, they had seemed small and distant. Down on that pier, they seemed like the tallest things in the world, shaded in a dark grey. Beneath those dull giants was the cold.

She scolded her absentmindedness. Sitting on a pier near wintertime with clothes more than one half part water was bound to make one cold. She knew spells to fix that, and had only just thought to use them- hence her self-scolding. She gently reached out a hand to place on Laryn's cloak. Gently, because she remembered what had happened before when she tried to touch her. Laryn nearly went rigid at her touch, but Sarah told her what she was doing, and she relaxed, if by a marginal degree.

She began tracing out the incantation in her mind and let the magic flow out through her fingertips. As she did she watched the cloak as the water ran out of it. She continued with another spell to lead the water into the sea. A third spell made sure the cloak was both dry and warm, which was certain to be preferable to the burning cold of the ocean water that had yet to release its hold. Reminding herself of Laryn's discomfort, she pulled her hand away, though she would rather have left it there a moment longer. She then repeated the spells on herself.

Mahariel barely noticed that she was dry, so lost was she in her own thoughts. Her breath was slowly starting to even out as she began to consider what should be done next. The joy at reaching Kirkwall was great, but she did not intend to stay there long. A few days, at most, was her estimation. Just long enough to get directions on which roads to take to Antiva, recover from the voyage, and prepare for the next journey. Doubtless it would not be that simple. But by the same token, nothing she ever did ever was. There was always something to foul her plans up, it seemed. The prospect, however, did not bother her at that time overmuch. And in truth, she was not overly concerned with what came next. For the moment she was perfectly happy and willing to do nothing save relish in that. A genuine smile broke across her face, an expression even rarer than her sentiment.

When Sarah saw that smile, she began to think that she might be hallucinating. Laryn did not give real smiles. It simply did not- could not, happen. Yet there it was in front of her. She thought the Templars would sooner give freedom to mages in addition to a hefty stipend. That would be something, especially in Kirkwall. A smile came to her lips at that. _Laryn, I think your face is broken. _

That was a laugh. Regardless of how weak it was, it was a laugh. Joking to herself, Sarah thought that it could be entirely possible that she was dead. She looked over the crate towards the city, and saw that the docks were for the most part deserted in the early morning, and that no one had taken note of their presence. With a faint feeling of unease, she reminded herself that Kirkwall had some of the harshest Templars in Thedas. Dead or not, she did not think she wanted to meet any Templars, which could very well happen if they stayed in one place for too long. It was not that she was afraid of Templars, but more that she was afraid of Kirkwall's Templars. If half the stories were true, one did not even need to be a mage to be branded as such. That changed things, made Denerim seem gentle, which it in truth had been. She thought about that, and decided she would treat them with the same manner she always had. She looked down at Laryn, who looked more exhausted than she had ever seen her. How many hours did it take to swim here from that ship? She shuddered as it occurred to her. The Ship... all those people...

Though Sarah was able to fight, death was not a thing she wanted to deal with, and had just dealt with on an incredibly large scale. She silently offered a prayer for the good she almost thought it could do them, and sat in silence. It crossed her mind that her being on board was part of what led to the deaths of all those people, she shuddered. The only consolation was that she could not have predicted the consequences of her own actions, and that was a weak tonic indeed. It could have only been a weaker comfort if she had tried to use it before boarding the ship. Not wanting to dwell on recent events overmuch she forced the thoughts aside to some dark corner where she didn't have to think about them, a skill which she had a talent for.

Mahariel's breathing reached a normal rate as she felt the strength returning to her limbs. She continued to lay on the pier for a time until finally she felt compelled to sit up. She propped herself up with her arm and looked at Sarah. _There's not much good in staying here. _

Sarah nodded. _Would hate to meet a sword of mercy after all that. _

Mahariel noticed Sarah's throat click and looked at her with concern. _Are you alright? _

_It's, it's nothing. _Sarah looked over her shoulder again to the docks, a lonely worker walked into a warehouse. Mahariel followed her gaze and paused for a moment. _Right, time to move then. _

She tried to get to her feet but staggered and had to latch onto the crate to avoid falling as the world swam before her. _Not as sure footed as I thought I guess. _She muttered to herself. Sarah stood up and offered her a hand, but she shook her head even though the ground was still wavering slightly. _I'll walk on my own legs. _There was no bite in the reproach, an unusual thing.

So Sarah stood and waited for Mahariel to take the first steps, and the dawn mercifully still seemed young enough for the docks to be empty. If nothing else, they could get into the city unnoticed. As she leaned against the crate, it occurred to her that that was one of the few redeeming things in the situation that recent circumstances had conspired to create. She thought of the people that had died on the ship and wished them the best of luck in whatever they were to face next. She did not give them more thought than that, being either too immersed in the immediate situation or too desensitized to death through exposure to be distracted by it unless she wished to be.

The world was finally settling in full and Mahariel looked up and ahead of her, perhaps, no, certainly more unsteady than she would have liked to have been. She shrugged off the discomfort as best she could and tested her legs again, which held better than they had just moments before, she staggered only slightly. She waved for Sarah to follow before moving on.

Thus did she, faltering forward, take her first steps into Kirkwall- City of Chains.

It wasn't enough, clearly, that he had lost the shipment and had to swim Maker knew how far to reach Kirkwall clinging onto a log with three complete strangers and a man whom his only relation to was purely business. It was not even enough that he would soon have a very angry Tal-Vashoth hunting him and that one of his partners was dead. It was not even enough that he had just been soaked through to the bone swimming to the city. No, none of that was enough, as evidenced by the fact that he was standing in a prison office before some clearly insane more-righteous-than-thou bitch, being questioned about what had happened on the boat. The dwarf had had the right idea in ducking into a warehouse when he saw the Templars coming. If only he, Juillet and Brennard had been so quick to act.

_And you are sure of this? Two blood mages? _

_I can only testify to one, but there was indeed a blood mage. _

The Knight-Commander's brow furrowed and she looked at him with distaste. Clearly she did not approve of any of them, but needed their information. _The corruption of the magic will have spread. They were both blood mages, I am sure. And you- _she turned to Juillet with the same disapproval- _you say they are both dead, correct? _

_'zere was no surviving that... incident. _

Juillet's calm demeanor was obviously derived from years of practice in her field- it didn't pay to show emotion. The Knight Commander looked at her, the mechanisms of her mind at work were plain to see. She looked to her Knight Captain, who had stationed himself by the door, and then back to Juillet. _You survived, there is no reason why they should not have. _She frowned and turned away to face a window. _So, the transfers are dead, killed by maleficarum whom we must assume remain at large, a demon took possession of a member of the order, both maleficarum are cunning enough to use neither staff nor robe, not that my subordinates would notice if they were- _she shot a sharp glare at the templar by the door and continued-_ and all of this is in addition to the plagues the city already suffers..._

She trailed off, evidently lost in thought for a moment, then turned sharply with an accusing look tempered by righteous fire on her face. _You have yet to tell me exactly how the ship was destroyed. _

Brennard and Juillet remained silent, so he spoke up. _The elf she, er, that is to say- conjured a bolt of fire from the sky and it punched through the deck. Next that any of us knew the entire ship flew apart and we were adrift at sea. _

She frowned. _You are not telling me everything. _Those eyes were like knives as they burrowed into him, and the look they wore was incredibly disturbing- there was more than doubt in those eyes. He kept a straight face as he answered her accusation: _Would you expect anything else? We are common people, and know nothing of such things as magic. It might not be everything, but we have told all that we can tell. _

The doubt was the only readable thing on the Commander's face, but it faded away after some consideration. _Very well, you've been most helpful. Cullen, summon Lieutenant Briar to show them out. _

The Knight Captain nodded and turned to leave but stopped. _Should they not be tended to? _

Meredith gave them a brief study. _They were well enough to walk while you escorted them here, so I doubt they need tending. As for lodging, they may go to the Chantry, it is not our concern. _Cullen nodded and left the room. Meredith surveyed the soaking human detritus in front of her. _You'd do well to stay out of trouble, and I encourage you to report any activity you see that seems akin to magic. _

Cullen returned, followed by a black haired man that looked like a squirrel. The Knight Commander dismissed her guests with a wave of the hand but motioned for Cullen to remain. She waited for the door to clang shut before speaking, the strain in her voice apparent to hear, though there had been not a hint of it before. _To what ends does the Maker test us Cullen when things are grown as chaotic as this? Orsino's plots, the escaped mages, and now this. Despite everything we do the mages grow ever more rebellious. I am nearing my wit's end. What about their place in our world is so hard for them to understand? They should be grateful, not rebellious, and I grow tired of their nonsense. _She took a breath to ward off the increasing volume in her voice, then shook her head and looked at an unfinished missive on her desk- the contents of which Cullen took no interest in.

He looked at her. _With things as they are Commander, a new approach may be necessary. _

Meredith looked at him and nodded. _I've been thinking the same. That Orsino had the nerve to try incite a rebellion against the protectors of not just himself, but the people of this city, is an affront to our authority. It means I have been entirely too gentle in keeping the mages in line. _There was a certain ice in her voice, in distinct contrast to the heat laced into her tone.

_Commander, more force may only encourage them to rebel further. _

Meredith nodded grudgingly and thought about the issue. _The Champion intends to answer my summons, does he not? _

_We met at the Hanged Man briefly when you sent me to interrogate the bartender about concealing mages in the storage rooms, he intends to come by today at Dusk. _

Meredith nodded. _He takes too much liberty with his position, considering he remains free at my leisure, but I am content. _

_You still intend to send him after the fugitives then? _

_Indeed. _She turned her head suddenly as if she had heard something, then seemed to decide she hadn't and blinked a few times. _If Hawke can be shown that few if any mages are as... stable as him, he will surely break his apathetic stance on the danger the mages pose. He would be a strong voice, capable of quelling some of the less cooperative citizens, I am sure. _

_And Ser Carver is to remain uninformed of this situation. _

_Yes, it is best he remains unaware. _

Cullen nodded and considered what he thought were more pressing problems. _What about Anders? _

_If Hawke turns against him, as I hope he shall, we can execute him without fear of Hawke causing more problems. _

_You won't be able to turn him against Merril though. _

She nodded and looked past Cullen for a second. _You look at it the wrong way Cullen, it is Merril who cannot turn against Hawke, I am unconcerned. _

_If Hawke doesn't cooperate, you will need an alternate plan. _

_We shall proceed as we have in that unfortunate case, though showing less of the mercy the mages seem to think they are ever-more entitled to. Regardless of Hawke's stance however, I intend to go through with the search of the Gallows. The blood mages left within the fortress must be rooted, and if we are lucky we will find evidence of Orsino's plots as well. _

_The First Enchanter will most likely not comply. _

Meredith looked at him with an odd smile on her face, a shade sinister even. _That is exactly the point- why would he refuse the search if there is nothing to hide? Either he refuses and we know he is guilty, or he accepts and we find the proof regardless. _

Cullen nodded. _A wise course, though I would urge not accusing the mages until such proof is unearthed. _

A spark of red fire shot through her eyes and was gone as fast as it had appeared, as if she thought his advice a challenge to her authority. _Perhaps the Champion could be of assistance with that as well... _

Cullen said nothing for a time and a certain tension filled the air even though neither party present was hostile. Meredith eventually gave a wave of her hand in the way of dismissal and Cullen turned quickly to leave. Before opening the door however he turned and looked at the Knight Commander. _About the maleficarum the earlier three told us about..._

_You know what to do Cullen. _

_Quite, but what I am asking is if word of this should reach Hawke's ear. _

Meredith gave the matter some thought then shook her head. _Hawke doesn't need to know more than he needs to, and he does not need to know of them. Nor does anyone outside the order. _She placed especial emphasis on the last sentence to make it especially clear.

Cullen nodded and turned to leave but the Commander stopped him with a call of his name. _Yes? _

_Send Ser Marron to the dungeons to make sure all the mages are present, I have the feeling some of them won't be. You know what to do if that is the case. _

_I do. _

He turned and left the room, letting the door clang shut behind him. The more he talked with the Commander, the less certain he became of her, which was unsettling. Her devotion to her duties was starting to veer almost into paranoia, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. He shook his head, just happy that she wasn't being too lax- the events at the Ferelden tower still haunted his dreams sometimes. His hand curled into a fist as he thought about that, the way he had been caged like an animal to watch his brothers in the order be butchered like cattle one by one, each and all. He took a breath and let the emotion pass, it was best not to dwell on that, it could have been far worse. He took a moment to think about The Warden and the way she had saved him and the others. She was a fool. A fool to let the potentially corrupted and/or possessed mages live. He would not have done the same in her place. He shook his head sharply to each side as if to clear it: what did those events matter in Kirkwall seven years later?

They didn't, so he cleared the thoughts from his mind to better focus on his duties. He first passed along the description of the latest fugitives to every templar he felt fully capable of completing the task of apprehending or dispatching them- a precious few, considering most of the Templars couldn't tell that Hawke was a mage for four years, even though he had waltzed conspicuously through the city streets in full stereotypical mages' regalia. (He had yet to come up with an excuse as to why he himself couldn't pick out Hawke as a mage when they first met, considering the now Champion of Kirkwall had called a small firestorm out of thin air.) Regardless, there were enough competent templars for him to feel comfortable that the task would be completed. After talking to each of these Templars he found Ser Marron and sent him to check the dungeons.

It was not long at all before Marron returned to the Knight Commander reporting that all mages within the Gallows were accounted for. She barely seemed to believe him at first, but eventually nodded and returned him to his duties.

Even in her elevated spirits, Sarah found convincing Laryn to be unconcerned with the Templars had been no small feat, for it seemed ingrained in her nature to be always cautious, always alert. She didn't fault her for that, but wished for her to lighten up a bit. It would do her good, she thought, though this was not the focal point of her thoughts as she scaled yet another of the city's innumerable staircases. She was instead trying not to think about recent events, and distracting herself by cursing the architects who designed the city. It was rare for her to be in an ill temper, but this was such an occasion.

Exactly what business Laryn had being the happier one of the pair eluded Sarah completely, as it violated everything she knew about the elf. Sarah actually felt jealous of her at that moment, unable to comprehend the cities apparent charm on her companion. What was it about the city that enchanted her so? What had she come there for to be so pleased upon arrival? Sarah paused at the top of the staircase and considered just how little she knew about the woman she owed her life to, a thing that did not help her growing frustration in the slightest. Laryn noticed her stop and turned to look at her, a bright spark in the eye behind the exhaustion, though her face reflected nothing but an almost indiscernible contentment, perhaps put a tad off colour by the dark spots around her eyes. Even in her best of moods, Laryn was a reserved person it seemed. At any rate, the fact that she did not share Sarah's frustration was obvious, and this only made Sarah the more aggravated.

The elf tilted her head to one side with a faint look of confusion. _Is everything all right? _

Sarah looked around at the bustle of people passing by and smiled, forcing her usual effortlessly carefree demeanor, though some of her ill spirits still rang through her words. _ Whoever designed this city should be burned for making it so helplessly easy to get lost in. The Maker himself couldn't fix this place. He'd probably just fall down a flight of stairs and break his neck or trip and impale himself on one of these spikes. _

Laryn looked around and shrugged. _I'm not up for more staris, but keeping away from the spikes seems like a good idea, though why they're their is beyond me. As for the city, I'm sure we'll learn it given time. _

_Right, the city's actually lain out so simply a baby could navigate it, we're just unfamiliar. _

_It's been less than half a day, should yoe expect anything different? _

_I should expect there to at least be a decent landmark somewhere, maybe a fifty foot cheese wheel? Something to tell these handbreath thick alleys and staircases apart. You can't rely on the buildings, all of these look so similar they might as well be **exactly **the same. And I'm sure a lot of them are, like someone took one boring yellowish square and placed a thousand mirrors around it. I'd wager the interiors are no better. On a side note, I **would **say that we've passed that house over there five times already, except all the houses look just like it. Some of these might not even be houses, but they all look to similar to tell. The only one anyone could get somewhere and get back where they started without getting lost would be with a ball of twine! What were the creators of this city thinking? I bet you can't even tell us where the docks are anymore! _

Laryn patiently waited for Sarah to finish ranting in what was actually a humorously singsong manner with a calm expression on her face. When asked to point the way to the docks, she pointed straight to them without even looking, and told Sarah to calm herself, which she did with the help of a few deep breaths.

_Sorry to be a downer, but this city is simply __**hopeless. **_She was silent for a time then looked at Laryn with a faint smile. _How do you even know where the docks are? _

Laryn looked off towards the docks and then at a nearby building. _I didn't lose track of them after leaving, that's all._

_Doesn't help us find a place to sleep though. _

Laryn frowned and shook her head then looked around at a few people standing nearby. But in the end she eyed a white haired-dark skinned elf who was coming up the stairs behind them. Exactly why she selected him was beyond Sarah, as the man looked rather less than friendly even after one discarded the spiked armour he wore and the tattoos that were upon his body. With a shiver she realized those tattoos were made of lyrium. She didn't want to know how he got them. Yet Laryn either ignored or refused to make a point of these things, as she caught his attention when he reached the top of the stairs and asked him for directions to the nearest end. That he stopped was remarkable, that his response abrasive and clearly spoke to some as of yet unexplained offense was obvious, it was as if he thought Laryn were paying him deliberate insult by communicating with him in such a manner.

_Do I look like a tour guide? _The accent sounded Tevinter.

Laryn was facing away from her and Sarah could not see her face, so there was no way to judge her reaction until she spoke. _Do I look like a tourist? _There was a trace of a hard edge there, though the overall tone was calm, indifferent even.

He looked at her for a few moments, then seemed to change his mind for reasons that remained unclear. He pointed past Sarah and gave directions in a manner that was equally brusque, but somehow less abrasive. _Up those stairs, straight past the armorer, up the next flight of stairs, place will be to your right. It's called the Hanged man, you won't miss. Now get out of my way, if you don't mind. _He brushed past Laryn without another word, and Laryn made no acknowledgement of it.

_Sourpuss. _Remarked Sarah as Laryn turned back around to look at her.

She nodded, but there was a distant look in her eye, as if she were somewhere else completely. Sarah took some relief in that, the look had been far too long missing on Laryn's face that day. The contentment that had been there, however, seemed lessened for it. _He reminds me of someone... _She said in an ethereal voice.

_Someone you knew well? _

_I guess you could say that. _

Solaryn led the way up the stairs without another word, either unable or unwilling to say more about her thoughts. Sarah gave a protest, but Solaryn barely heard it. Kirkwall was still largely a dream to her, to say nothing of the state she found herself in. Encountering a man at random who distantly reminded herself of how she had been during the Blight called something into direct clarity that had not been there before- exactly how long it had been since she had felt happy, genuinely happy. She had felt glad during the years after the blight, certainly... many times- but that was not the same. It was so much less than what she felt in Kirkwall, and that was strange. The contrasts in the similar emotions had illuminated to her the contrasts between her past and present state, and that made her think. She wasn't sure what to make of what she felt.

Sarah tapped her on the shoulder at the base of the next staircase and her past and present moods fell out of her mind like a spell that had been lifted. _Hm? _She asked without stopping.

_Why didn't we ask for directions earlier? _

That stopped her- then she started to shake with laughter, leaning against the wall of a building for support. Miraculously, she managed to make little noise while doing so. Sarah raised an eyebrow. _So who are you and what have you done with the elf that I used to know? _

Solaryn calmed herself some then apologized before explaining. _The last time I asked for directions, every place I was directed to was on the brink of societal collapse, and I would usually end up nearly dying several times fixing it. The thought simply crossed my mind that if something goes inexplicably and horribly wrong, we'll know why. _

_That doesn't seem funny at all. _

_You weren't there. _

_You are a very strange woman._

_I've heard that plenty of times before. _She gave a last smile before her face returned to a much calmer expression. _At any rate, the man said the inn is to the right up these stairs. _

_I hope they don't have as much junk piled in the streets in front of the place, doesn't anyone around here clean up after themselves? _

_Apparently not. _Solaryn had been trying very hard to ignore the piles of detritus scattered haphazardly against most of the buildings they had passed.

She quietly scaled the stairs, feeling a distinct burning in her legs as she did so. She would like nothing more than to lie down and to do so soon, but knew better than to do it on the street. Besides, the inn was just around the corner, apparently. At the top of the stairs she placed a hand on one of the spikes that seemed to serve as railings within the city and looked off to the right where the inn was supposed to be. The man had said she wouldn't miss it, and she didn't. Aside from the rotted wine barrel and discarded bottles that appeared to have not moved in years, there was a giant construct that resembled a man hanging in front of the building with arms tied behind its back. There even appeared to be what looked like blood painted on the tattered figure. Solaryn thought of the barbarity of the message and shook her head. Sarah made a comment that at least they knew why the inn was called the Hanged Man.

_And people would actually drink in a place like that? _

Sarah shrugged. _You could ask that fellow. _She pointed at a hopelessly drunk Orlesian man as he stumbled out of the bar rambling about women and not wanting to go back. Exactly where he was referring to remained unanswered on account of him slipping on one of the wine bottles and crashing face-first into the barrel. Solaryn frowned at the display, taking a moment to think about how stupid or desperate a man had to be to make a fool of himself in that manner. Despite that she couldn't help but be amused when he slumped to the ground, having lost all consciousness.

_Best of luck to him with women. _Sarah remarked. _Between his sniveling voice and greasy looks he must be the most unappealing man north of the Waking Sea, and that actually means quite a lot coming from someone like me. _A passerby raised an eyebrow at that and Sarah quickly looked away. _Reckon the guards will pick him up? _

Solaryn shook her head. _Unless he gets violent, nobody will care. _She paused to consider Sarah's words more closely. _What does "someone like you" mean? _

Sarah shrugged, a sly smile pulling at her lips. _Someone with taste, of course. _Strangely, she did not meet her eye. 

The answer was scarcely better than a cheap evasion, and Mahariel felt a flash of anger, as she hated evasive answers to direct questions. Nevertheless, she let both the emotion and the question pass. Whatever Sarah had meant, it wasn't her concern, assuming of course she had meant anything at all.

She started walking towards the Hanged man with Sarah in tow, and was about ten feet away when the door opened and three people stepped out, the likes of whom Solaryn had yet to see within the city. It was not so much the differences in attire but of manner that caught her attention, though it could perhaps be said that both were equally notable. The first to leave the inn was the Templar, clad in full regalia save the helm, leaving his sharp but somehow plain features to flatter the armour surprisingly well. The first thing she noticed after apparel and the look of contentment on his face was a certain resentment, as if he had constantly lived in the shadow of another, wishing to step into the limelight. Yet there were other things too, a certain obstinate spark in his eye, a fiercely proud bearing- both qualities that could serve a Templar well, yet there were other things in him that Solaryn couldn't place that made her think he would never be great amongst the ranks of that order.

After the Templar came a woman of a tall and immensely powerful build, with a certain lack of femininity in her dignified but plain features. It was none of this that caught the bulk of Solaryn's attention though, but rather the immense strength those features bore and bore well. Upon examining those features there could be no questioning that the woman possessed a great sense of honour and duty, the apparentness of which could only be rivaled by the devotion worn in the selfsame features. Solaryn had little doubt that she was studying a woman who, if circumstances so willed it, would lay down her life and more without hesitation so as to protect that which was important to her- a quality which won Solaryn's respect immediately, a remarkably rare thing indeed.

Solaryn felt a bolt of ice run through her blood as the last man came out, but there was no explaining it. Further defying explanation was the fact that he was in the full stereotypical mages attire, even wearing a staff, and no one on the street had paid this any mind. One of them actually shouted the man a friendly salutation, which he returned in kind. Solaryn was suddenly sure that whoever this man was, he was a mage, and yet somehow important enough to the city to have absolutely nothing to fear from the Templars within reason. Solaryn marveled at this. And yet, for all she had guessed about him simply from his attire his face was rather plain. The eyes roamed casually from place to place, seemingly taking little to no interest in what they saw yet seeming to see a great deal. There was a hint of a smile on his lips that indicated he was a person of good humour, and the mop of mud rusted red hair coupled with a same-coloured mustache showed that he was not a particularly vain man. He seemed a person who would be content with whatever life set out for him even so far as to be taken for apathetic, with features that were really quite plain though subtly attractive in their own way. There was nothing to justify Solaryn's instant reaction when she saw him, yet she could no more erase it than doubt it- whatever this man's features suggested, his presence was a bad omen. The thought put a heavy check on Mahariel's spirits.

As if to subdue her misgivings, the man bid her a good afternoon as he walked by with his companions before asking the Templar if the Knight Commander still wished to see him. Solaryn looked over her shoulder as the party turned a corner and vanished and turned to look at Sarah, a strange expression on her face.

_If that man's wandering about in broad daylight dressed like __**that**__, maybe I'll stay here after all. _Sarah remarked cheerfully.

Solaryn didn't respond, she was no longer in a mood for conversation. She looked up as she passed directly under the giant hanging man and shuddered, the idea of the prop sickening. She wondered briefly if any men had actually been hanged in the tavern, and shook her head to clear it of the thought as she opened the door. She didn't want to think of such things.

Inside the inn was incredibly filthy, with what looked like spattered blood right in the middle of the floor and strange symbols on the walls. On a distant wall there was a depiction of an elven slave kneeling as if broken by the world, as if they were about to face death with nothing left to live for. The people of the city apparently had a taste for grotesque imagery, though to the credit of the proprietor, whoever that was, tarps had been hanged beneath the overly high ceiling to attempt to add a more festive atmosphere, and a fire crackled in a grate on the other side of the room. The banners however were so ratty and dreary looking that they didn't actually help to liven the atmosphere at all. Solaryn took a brief survey of the patrons before walking towards the bartender. The only notable ones were an imposing Qunari standing by himself, probably Tal-Vashoth, and a dwarf in a finely tailored coat sitting in a corner fingering a crossbow lovingly. He looked up at them as they entered but took little interest otherwise.

_What can I get you stranger? _The bartender asked Sarah as the two approached the counter, evidently ignoring Solaryn completely. She in turn ignored this, having long since learned that there was no sense stressing over intolerant people, as this would not change their behavior in the slightest. But when Sarah opened her mouth to speak something happened that caught Laryn's immediate and full attention, and instantly put her on edge. A firm hand locked onto her arm and a man's voice shouted incredibly loudly, like a dragon's roar: _YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE! _

Mahariel flung his hand off with enough force to send him staggering as she wheeled around, one small push away from striking him with enough force to rob him of consciousness. Heads were turning now, and the dwarf in the corner looked intrigued, though his face was somewhat hard to read. _Why should I not be here? _She snapped, her voice quivering, barely under control. Sarah had never seen her get so upset so quickly.

The man, a scrawny thing with a balding widow's peak and grey beard, stood his ground, but there was a tremor in his voice as well. One of fear. _It's not right! You... you don't belong! Not here, not now! Someone is changing the story! You need to be elsewhere! What... what is this? Oh Maker, why are you HERE? _

He yelled the last word loudly enough to make several of the onlookers flinch, and had succeeded in making Sarah feel very uncomfortable very quickly. Mahariel was still too angry to be uncomfortable. _And what right does that give you to accost me in such a manner? _She snarled fiercely, fiercely enough to make Sarah shudder. Against the demon on the boat Laryn's anger had been all but evident. But this, this was something else entirely. A different kind of rage, more potent, far more dangerous, and yet her voice remained several steps short of the shouts she had thrown at the demon.

_You don't have a right to be here at all! It... it is not willed! It cannot be! Oh curse them! Curse them and her meddling! Curse them all! Which of those thousand devils has the gall to dabble in this affair of all things! It was her wasn't it? This seems exactly the sort of thing she would do. Oh why can she not leave the story alone! This is not the writer's vision! It is that bitch of a dabbler's construct! _He covered his face with his hands and shook his head violently from side to side, quivering, for some reason scared senseless not by Mahariel's rage, but rather her presence.

Mahariel was about to say something again but Sarah cut in. _Laryn, don't. He's obviously either drunk or insane, just ignore him. _

_And you. _the man said with a bite as he moved his hands to look at her directly bearing an expression that said he was confounded by her. _You're not supposed to exist at all! Damn them! Damn Her! DAMN HER AND IT AND ALL! I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS1 _

_Stand for what? _Sarah asked calmly. Laryn had turned around and placed her hands on the bar, her body shaking with barely suppressed rage.

_BEGONE YOU ILLBEFITTED FIGMENT OF A CAVALIER DABBLER IN THIS WORLD! YOU ARE NOTHING HERE! _He shrieked in a voice that was nearly a scream_. _Mahariel whirled around in a blur to strike him senseless but found herself too late as the man, rather incredulously, had actually managed to faint in emotional excess. She took several deep breaths as she lowered her still quivering fist to her side, the blazing inferno of fury in her eyes slow to subside indeed. Patrons began to look away as a couple of men came over to carry the now senseless man out of the room and revive him. It was Sarah who noticed the smiling dwarf in the corner this time, Mahariel being still too excited to pay him any mind. The two of them stood there for a long time, the human thoroughly shaken by the encounter, the elf still shaking from it.

Eventually the bartender prompted Sarah again and they both turned around. _Sorry? _Sarah asked in a strange voice.

_I said what would you like? _

_Oh yes. _Sarah said rather too quickly, then took a breath to speak more slowly and hopefully clearly. _A room if you have one. _She paused then added as an afterthought: _What's the price of a mug here? _

_Three bits. _Replied the bartender with a smile. Laryn shook her head to show she wasn't interested and Sarah was about to order a drink when another voice interrupted. This one smoother, with a suave charm to it. _The room's on me Corff, and I'll buy both these ladies a drink too, just as soon as we've had a chance to chat. On a side note, you should be less rude to the elf. _

The bartender nodded as they both turned around. It was the dwarf from the corner, standing in front of them with a cunning smile on his face. _A pleasure to meet you ladies. Name's Varric Tethras. _

Laryn scoffed. _You're a presumptuous dwarf indeed. _

_It's true, but I think you'll find I'm a good person to know. _The smile on his face was more saccharine now, but he looked friendly enough, This did not shake Laryn's abrasive demeanor, however. _What do you want, then? _

_I like talking with interesting people- and believe me I know them when I seem them. A chat won't hurt you will it? _

Sarah shook her head while Laryn did not react at all. The dwarf smiled. _How about it then? A few drinks on me, then I cover the room for the night, no strings attached. _

Sarah agreed with a nod and Laryn shot her a look that would give even the most unrelenting Templar pause and Sarah felt her blood freeze for a moment, it was remarkable how quickly Laryn's mood could shift- to think she had been quite amiable not so long ago... She swallowed and told Laryn quite plainly that there was no harm in it. The elf started to retort, then cut herself off and looked away, shaking her head.

_Right then. _Said the dwarf cheerily. _Varric Tethras, as I said. Yourself? _

_Name's Sarah. _She offered the dwarf her hand and he took it, looking at Laryn somewhat expectantly.

She frowned as she looked at him, and obviously wanted to do more but was refraining. _Call me Laryn. _She said flatly ignoring the dwarf's still extended hand.

Varric put his hand down, nodded, and led Sarah to a table. Mahariel followed, but stayed a careful distance away until they were sitting, at which point it was no longer possible. She let Sarah sit directly across from the dwarf so that she could better track his expressions without being observed doing so. The fact that this put her back to the wall and gave her a good view of both the door and the patrons helped ease the strain that recent events had wrought upon her. At least she would seen any further unpleasantness coming, in theory. That that man had had the nerve to approach her in such a manner, it made her blood boil- the way he had seized her arm as if his life depended upon it, the nerve. In comparison to that one gesture, no conceivable words could have possibly made her more angry, and yet he had found them. It was almost amusing in a convoluted sort of way, the way fate's machinations had conspired to ensure that the man would automatically pick the most grievous way to offend her from the surface to the core of her being.

She tried to write him off as a drunkard and let it pass, but his words had been too clear and his face too lucid, so the attempt was certain to end in failure. She could have tried to convince herself the man was insane, but there was no part of her that was truly willing to believe that. What that made him, she had no idea, and was apprehensive of considering the thing fully.

Mahariel paid the two little mind as they conversed, save to give a neutral response to the occasional direct question. The conversation was nothing of import, a study of the dreadful similarity between the various locations of the city. The only noteworthy thing said on that topic was said when the dwarf chuckled and said: _If you think the city is bad, you have no idea. It goes out to the caves too, every single one of them looks exactly the same. Even the mold grows in the same places. I don't know who shaped the land, but they must have been quite lazy indeed around here. _Sarah laughed at that and Mahariel made a note to herself. If everything looked the same outside of the city, knowing the roads to Antiva would be very important.

But the conversation, as a whole, was irrelevant. It did not explain why the dwarf took such an interest in what had happened, or why he wanted to speak to them. As Mahariel studied the face through the corner of her eye, it remained amiable but unrevealing, even working a certain charm into the countenance. Leliana had worn a similar look when she told stories, but it had been more sincere. It seemed plausible that the dwarf was a bard of some sort, but obviously of a different colour. And why not? Bards could differ just as much as anyone else. The notion that the dwarf was a storyteller, however, only made Mahariel more uncertain of him, and her unease grew more definite, though she did not let that show on her face.

The dwarf finally got to the point after the banter had progressed for some time and Mahariel smiled on the inside, though she was unamused and even felt a flash of anger at the dwarf. The cunning man had used the conversation to get Sarah to lower her guard, and thus loosen her tongue. It was an old trick, but of great utility. Mahariel guessed that the dwarf had not tried it on herself because he knew he would be wasting his time. Sarah was another matter however. The dwarf sighed and leaned back in his chair, apparently perfectly at ease. _At any rate, that man who gave you a scare when you walked in is quite the fellow, sees things other people don't- or don't want to. So I'm curious what exactly brought the likes of the two of you into Kirkwall? _

Sarah's failure to give an immediate answer was just one of the reasons why Mahariel had not wanted to speak with the dwarf. Feeling aggravated, she cut in and told the dwarf that she was bound for the Antivan city of Seleny to honour the death of a close friend, who happened to be Sarah's cousin, though the two had never been very close. The dwarf offered the appropriate condolences, and that gave Mahariel an idea. Still in need of a definate path into the country, she decided to ask the dwarf if he knew the best roads to take from Kirkwall to Antiva- citing that they were ill-traveled in that part of the world.

The dwarf did not believe the lie, not fully at least- but he made no comment on it. He instead leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands. _Not much for travel I'm afraid. But I know an elf- mopey fellow too- who would know the way. We play a few games of diamondback at his house once a week. If one of you would join us, I'm sure he could help you. _

Mahariel raised an eyebrow. _Why not just meet him here? _

_The man doesn't like to leave his house, not the outgoing type. _

Mahariel considered it. Knowing the way to Antiva was essential, but she didn't trust the dwarf. She thought about that for a time before nodding. _I'll come, but Sarah will not. _

Sarah shot her a questioning look but the dwarf shrugged. _Now about those drinks. _He motioned to a waitress named Norah and ordered a round of the strongest ale for everyone at the table. Sarah's eyes twinkled at the notion while Mahariel blanched, but said nothing until the waitress had departed. _Absolutely not. I have no tolerance for it. _She wasn't lying either, it took only a very small quantity of mild alcohol to slur her speech and blur her vision- stronger stuff invariably left her unconscious. She thought back to the last time that had happened- Oghren was still probably laughing about it.

Sarah continued to pester Laryn to have just one drink while waiting for the waitress, but she remained resolute in her refusal. Why was the elf being so stubborn over so small a thing? She took her own mug in her hand and drank deeply, feeling the warmth of the liquor as it went down her throat to rest in her belly. _Harmless, see Laryn? _

_I told you I don't have any tolerance for it. _The reproaching bite was coming back into her voice, a thing which Sarah had not heard overmuch that day. She was unfazed though. _Don't be a sourpuss Laryn. _

The elf shot her an angry look and Varric casually remarked that it would be a shame to waste such good Ale. Laryn frowned at that and the anger was back behind her eyes. Sarah wondered why she was so upset, but made one last plea. _Come on, won't you at least share one drink with a friend? _

Laryn's reaction to that was very strange, something of the fire lurking behind her eyes sparked, and then went out. The elf looked away quickly and gave the smallest shake of the head before seizing the mug in her left hand and draining it as quickly as she was able. Sarah raised her eyebrows in surprise and even the dwarf looked intrigued at the reaction.

Laryn was still and silent for a very long time before she abruptly slumped over and rested her head on the table. The dwarf burst into a fit of laughter. _Guess she wasn't lying eh? _

Sarah smiled and nodded. _I guess not. _Something about Laryn's reaction bothered her, and she had a fairly good idea what it was, even if she couldn't understand the reasons for it. She resumed talking with the dwarf about nothing but there was still that faint discomfort in her mind with nothing to explain it. The thought crossed her mind again as she looked over at Laryn's unconscious frame- she was such a strange elf...

Juillet had not set foot in a Chantry in a long time- years even. She had never been in one on this scale. The vaulted ceilings and the towering statue of Andraste in the main room, it was all intimidating. She felt lucky to be sheltered in one of the rooms on the upper levels, where the clergy would normally reside. She sneezed violently as she surveyed the meager lodgings in the chantry robes the Grand Cleric had personally provided that were plainer than those of Orlais, but far more extravagant than those in Ferelden. There was a small fireplace, a bed, an armoire and a chamber pot- not fancy by any means. This was to her taste. Life had never been kind enough to her to bless her with such a thing as luxury, and she had little use of such things now. Luxury was for the nobility- for what did they know of anything else? They knew what it was to sleep in a warm bed every night with fresh sheets and clean nightclothes- but not one of them could tell her what it was to sleep at night in a rundown shack in the slums of Verchiel beneath a flee-ridden piecemeal piece of cow hide with no hope in their hearts and little reason to expect any the next day. A noble could speak of the high dignities and virtues of courtly love- but not one of them knew what it was to sell themselves to satisfy the depravity of others so that they might eat for another day. A noble could lecture on the proper upbringing of a child so that they might become "Of High Regard", but they had everything to learn about raising a son without a father whilst being barely able to support oneself. She thought with contempt that the nobility knew everything there was to know about their fantasy worlds, but nothing of anything that mattered.

The room though, as a whole, was more than Juillet had expected. She had seldom seen such accommodations when working with Ernest, and had never seen them before that. Yet to some people lodgings like this were "unacceptably low-class." She scoffed at the foolishness. What did those people know about anything?

She walked over to the fire and stretched out her hands to warm them, shivering slightly. Try as she might, she had been unable to shake the chill that had set into her bones that morning. The hot bath she had been given upon arrival at the Chantry had not helped, nor had anything else that had been tried. Looking at the shadowy shapes of her hands before the warm glow of the fire, she doubted it would be going away soon. She felt numb, but it ran deeper than the flesh. It brought a chill to her conscience to remember how Ernest had pulled her out of the depravity she used to live and, in return, she had killed him. She closed her eyes and saw it again, the way the elf had been one step short of murdering the Templar when Ernest ran to his aid- the wave of energy that sent the both of them flying. She recalled the way the Templar had gone for the elf while the mage waited for an opening. She felt the energy building within the bow as she prepared to eliminate the threat of the mage- she heard the soft twang as the missile was launched straight and true to put an end to that monster. And then she saw Ernest leap up to strike her down, only to be pierced by the fatal missile. Then there was nothing, she didn't even feel the blast of energy after the mage had hit her, nothing else mattered.

Her saviour was dead and she had killed him. What could ever matter more than that?

The day she had met the man, she had not been prepared for it. An elf, a scrawny alienage thing, had broken into the shack and taken the only coin she had been able to earn in a week. He had had the misfortune to be running out as Juillet came within sight of the house, and the further misfortune to have chosen to run in her direction. She had not waited for the wretch to reach her, she had snatched a stone that was lying on the ground and hurled it at him with all the strength she could muster. The crack had been audible and the way he had dropped could leave no question as to the certainty of his death, though she had not intended it. The foreseeable irony of the thing was that one of the city guardsmen had arrived on the scene just as she was liberating her coin from his still warm hand. She had been quick to try and run, but the guard had been quicker, drawing and putting his sword to her neck before she was even fully standing. _Not one more step, or that elf's fate is yours. _

She had frozen, knowing full well that it was over. She had two choices- to try and run and be killed right there, or to surrender and be hung later. She was about to try and run, finding the quicker death to be preferable, when a cool but amiable voice had cut in. _Easy there Guillaume, she's with me. _The fact that he was armed with shield and sword, and there were four men following him made his argument a rather hard one to dispute. The guard decided to try it anyway.

_I know you Ernest, and even if I was a man impressed by force, she does not look like one of yours. _

And indeed, the dirty red-haired woman dressed in rags could not have caused one to even think of a well equipped band of mercenaries, let alone forge a connection between the two. This did not stop Ernest from persisting, however. _We needed someone to get in the good graces of some lyrium smugglers out of the alienage, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you that one needs to look the part. _His voice had been perfectly reasonable, and there had been no reason to doubt his sincerity. The man was obviously a talented liar.

_What does a Nevarran mercenary care about Orlesian lyrium smugglers? _

Juillet had looked at the man again out of the corner of her eye, not daring to move her neck. His Orlessian was perfect, not a trace of an accent. One could never pick him out as a foreigner from his speech. He had given the guard a reassuring smile before responding. _I hail from Nevarra, and so do many of my friends, but the line of work knows no borders. The pay is good, and that's what matters to us. _

The guard had narrowed his eyes in an obvious show of both contempt and disapproval. _I don't approve of your kind, the lot of you belong in prison if you ask me. _

Ernest hadn't lose his smile, and there was indeed even a certain pleasantness on his face when he had replied. _But you do us dishonour, Ser. We have done you a service, have we not? Are the streets not safer for what we have done here today? You might not approve of our actions, but is that reason to lock us away when we have done you such benefit? I don't ask you to approve of my family, but I would take offense if you do not appreciate our actions. _

_You assume I believe you are not lying. _The guard had said plainly.

_The captain shall verify the story, ask him if you wish. _It had been a moot point, considering finding the captain involved leaving both Juillet and the mercenaries unattended.

_Do you take me for a fool? _

Ernest had shaken his head and in his next lines proved his genius as a negotiator. _I take you for a man of good sense, letting her come back to us today would mean that we owe you a favor. Since you know of me, you also know that I am good for it. Not only would I owe you a favour, but I would consider you a friend, if you would allow it. Whether you choose to collect on the favour or not is your choice, but you can't deny the value of having me as a friend. We both know I go to great lengths to ensure the well-being of my friends, I am only more stalwart in ensuring the safety of those who comprise my extended family. _

The threat was so subtle, it wasn't there, but the message had been sent and received. The guard thought it over then nodded. _If I were a magistrate, the necessary bribe to have ensure this woman's life would be ten sovereigns. _

Ernest had nodded and handed over a coinpurse fat with the required amount. The guard nodded and sheathed his sword. _Not a word of this to anyone, yes? _

Ernest nodded and the guard had left without another word. Juillet finally dared to move and looked at the man's face with a feeling of surprise that she couldn't be sure wasn't showing. _I... what do you want from me? _

The man had smiled. _Like I said, you're with me now. You'll be well paid, I can assure you, though you won't be seeing much of this city any more. _

_But I have a son, how will I-_

_Your son will be provided for, I promise- though you will rarely if ever be able to see him. The road is no place for one so young. _

_But- _

_It's the best I can do. _

He had grown more direct, with a little less of the embellishment he had used to sway the guard, though it seemed ingrained into his voice to the point where he could not remove it completely. He was telling Juillet as directly as he could that both her and her son would be provided for, but at the cost of their parting. There was only one choice that could be made, and Juillet had gone with him. After that she had found things going her way. She was provided with a decent set of armour and Ernest had had her instructed in the usage of a bow, a skill which she quickly mastered. She had not learned the common tongue nearly as well, and he would constantly have to remind her not to use Orlessian when speaking with people who did not know the language. But that was the least of it, the greatest thing about working with Ernest is that she could walk down a street, and for the first time in her life people would look at her with respect. The value of that was far greater than the money she was paid, the bulk of which she always sent back to help her son, along with a letter she would have to ask someone else to write. She could not be a proper mother to him, but she refused to be absent in his life completely. Ernest had occasionally suggested that it would be best if she left it behind, but that had never ended well. His reasoning that-

Her chain of thought was broken by a gentle rap on the wooden door. _Entrez. _She said quietly, not wishing to disrupt the night hours with loud chatter. The door opened and the Grand Cleric stepped in, a gentleness in her features that Juillet had not seen in many. _I wanted to be sure you were comfortable. _

Juillet sneezed and then nodded. _Oui, zey are excellent. Merci. _

_Do you need anything dear? _

Juillet shook her head. _Non merci, I'll be sleeping soon. _

The Grand Cleric nodded and bid her a good night, and quietly left the room.

Juillet lifted her hands from the fire and looked over to the bed. She had not slept on anything so comfortable looking in her life, she thought absentmindedly. Ernest had always procured decent rooms at local taverns, but they had lacked the warm sincerity of the one she was in now. The best room money had ever bought her couldn't compare to one she was sleeping in because she had no money, ironic. She knew she would need to make her own way now, Ernest couldn't help any more. It made her sad in a way she never was.

There was another knock on the door, though heavier. _Entrez. _

Brennard and the other miscreant entered the room and she looked at them with distaste. _What want you? _She asked, completely forgetting the appropriate syntax.

The nameless man shut the door and Brennard began explaining in great detail what he wanted. He explained how a Tal-Vashoth had offered him and two of his associates to smuggle goods on board the ship, and that the goods for obvious reasons were now lost, and the Tal-Vashoth would want them dead.

Juillet shrugged. _It ees not my affair. _

Brennard shook his head. _He offered us one hundred and twenty sovereigns for the goods, and he will kill us if he knows we don't have them. We were to meet him tomorrow night, and we need your help. _

Juillet frowned. _Ze goods, what were they? _

Brennard shuffled his feet and looked away, for some reason intimidated by the woman's impartial stare. _Lyrium sand. A lot of it. Stolen from Amaranthine. _

Juilllet instantly recognized what had happened when the ship had flown apart, but this did not show on her face. Nothing showed on it all, as a matter of fact. _What am I to do? _

Brennard glanced quickly around the room, as if expecting someone to be listening. _He'll be coming alone with the money, because he doesn't yet know we don't have the goods. Put an arrow in his brain for us, and we'll cut you in on one third of the profits. _

A lot of coin, by anyone's standards save the absolute wealthiest. _I 'ave no bow. _She said simply.

Brennard smiled. _That can be remedied. _

Juillet knew exactly what she wanted to do. _One dead man, forty sovereigns? _

Brennard nodded.

_Deal. _She said impartially, and held out her hand. The man shook it, offering her many thanks as he did so, and then left the room with his comrade. Juillet waited for their footsteps to fade away in the outside corridor before flinging open the door and making for the main hall. She gazed at the statue of Andraste as she made for the front door, and paid the woman a brief silent tribute. The capacity to do what she had done merited respect, whether or not she was the maker's chosen was irrelevant.

She felt a blast of cold air as she stepped out the front door into the early winter night. She plodded her way to a point overlooking the square outside the Chantry and leaned against the railing, considering everything she knew about what she had been told. A lot of things that had been unclear before had been made so now, and very little of it was to her taste. There was really only one thing she would do in her position, and she was comfortable doing it. It didn't need to be done, but it would put her mind at ease. Until that time though, the knowledge of what truly killed all those people on board the ship would weigh heavily on her. She sneezed again and listened to it echoe around the courtyard. She studied the surroundings carefully, taking them all in. She hadn't realized she had stopped shivering until she started again. It was amazing what a faint breeze could do in such a time as this.

She drew the Chantry robes a little tighter around herself- a small thing to ward off the winter wind.


	6. Chapter 6

_**The City of Chains**_

Solaryn wasn't sure which was worse- the way her throat felt like sand or the way the world swam before her the moment she tried to stand up. She was trying very hard not to think because she didn't want to think of anything. Her footfalls hurt her ears and the light of the candle in the dingy otherwise dark room hurt her eyes, but she didn't particularly care about either. The way her vision wouldn't quite slide into full focus was far more troubling to her. She tried to look around again and the room seemed to shift ever not so subtly. She cursed silently to herself as she realized she had absolutely no recollection of the room at all, and what had happened after entering the Hanged Man last night was shaky at best. She had a hazy memory of some sort of confrontation, and with a great deal less thought remembered far more clearly what had prompted her to deliberately put herself through this. She winced, her head hadn't hurt like this since Oghren had convinced her to share some of his special brew. Not much to do about that hough.

There was a table with three chairs around it in the middle of the room and she slowly took a seat to help ease the teetering of the world around her. There was a pitcher in the middle of the table, and a few mugs. She lifted the pitcher and, seeing it was full, brought it closer to examine the contents. Water, that was good. She carefully poured some into the nearest mug and replaced the pitcher, the soft stone hued thud it made sounding a little too sharply in her ears. She took a tentative sip and her throat cringed as the water went down, but that sensation would go away after a time. She conducted another study of the room, this time much more carefully, to see that no one else was inside. There wasn't, and she was thankful for that. She also noted that the door was closed and the window was draped, that made her feel better. She supposed she was in the Hanged Man still, the room was certainly on par with the degraded state of the rest of the establishment. Where that placed Sarah though, she had no idea.

Sure she was alone she rested her face in her hands and sat there for a long time in the darkness and silence. She wasn't sure how she had missed the intense aching all over her body before, but she became very aware of it while sitting in the room alone. Her back was particularly bad, which didn't make any particular sense until she reached her hand around to feel the warm press of dragonbone beneath cloth against her fingertips. That explained that then. She supposed she was lucky to have not hurt herself while asleep. Giving passive thought to the situation, she didn't feel particularly lucky at all.

She tried to keep her head mostly empty as she sat taking occasional sips from the mug to alleviate the barren feeling in her throat, but it was hard. It shouldn't have been because she didn't know what to think, but what things should have been evidently had nothing to do with the way things were. She was, in a strangely passive sort of way, afraid. It was nothing corporeal, just an indistinct feeling of apprehension. The previous day she had been so happy to have reached Kirkwall, but sitting there alone she was beginning to think that she should not have come at all. What were the chances that she would find the Keeper, really? And if she did, what were the chances it would be a happy meeting, that things wouldn't be even worse between them than before? She was angry over the misgivings, because she could no more place their source than rid herself of them. She sighed to herself in silence. Whatever the less certain parts of her thought, she was going to see things through to the end. She knew herself well enough to know she didn't have a choice in that.

She exhaled deeply, listening to the air as it gently whispered between her lips, between her teeth. It grated on her ears, but it felt good to her in a strange sort of way. A lock of hair fell in front of her eye as she stared into the contents of the half empty mug, her own face barely visible gazing back at her, more a silhouette than anything discernible. She shuddered and did not know why. She thought she heard footsteps outside, and was assured of it when the door opened and Sarah walked into the room. _You're awake. _She remarked as she closed the door behind her.

Solaryn looked up, not bothering to brush the hair out of her eye. _I am. _Sarah looked better than she felt, and aside from the disparity being more striking than normal, that was not such an unusual thing. At that moment, she was jealous in a bitter sort of way.

_You look awful. _Sarah remarked. And she did. The eyes that normally reflected Laryn's feelings were a cloudy bloodshot hue, and her face was nearly expressionless behind an overriding mask of exhaustion. To Sarah she looked beaten down, and that was an incredibly strange.

Laryn gave the old halfhearted fake laugh and the same false smile played across her face that Sarah had seen many times before. _I told you I didn't have any tolerance for it. _

Sarah sat down across from her and she looked back at her mug, almost as if she didn't want to look at her. A stifling silence ensued, and Sarah became aware of the room being too warm for her liking. _You knew this would happen. _She said simply.

_Yes. _

Sarah swallowed. _And you did it anyway, when I called you a friend. _

Laryn didn't look up and Sarah couldn't see her eyes. The only response she gave was a faint nod, a barely noticeable gesture. Sarah felt a knot form in her chest at that. _Why? _

Laryn didn't answer for a very long time, she just stared at her mug. Sarah wondered if she was going to answer at all, but eventually she took a deep breath and folded her arms in front of her upon the table. _You don't want to be my friend Sarah. _

_Why not? _It showed in her voice that she was hurt.

Solaryn looked up and accidentally directly at Sarah, bloodshot red golden brown eyes met with clear sapphire blue. She thought about everything that had happened since they had met on board that boat, how her protecting the apostate from the templars had ultimately led to the deaths of everyone else on board. It choked her, wrenched her heart and beat it with a blazing iron fist, but she didn't let that show, and repressed the feeling as best she could. She couldn't think about that. Not there, not then. She looked away, at the wall, at the window, anywhere but at Sarah's eyes. _Bad things tend to happen to my friends, most of them my fault. _

_I don't understand. _

Mahariel felt the bite in her voice. _What's there to not understand? I spoke clearly enough. _

_There's more to it than that. _

_Nothing that your ears will ever hear. _Mahariel could feel her temper rising, and knew that most of that was the aftereffects of the alcohol, but she didn't try to check it. She thought about who Alistair had been when they met, and who he was when they parted ways, the heart she had inadvertently stirred to passion and had been forced to break. She thought about liking Oghren from their first meeting, seeing more than a simple drunk, and personally dealing the death blow on his former wife only a short time later. She thought Tamlen's name, but abruptly clipped off the idea, absolutely refusing to carry it even a single word farther.

She could feel Sarah take in a breath at her words, even if she could neither see nor hear it. The hurt tone in her voice told all that needed to be said. _That demon, Pycha, was it-_

_No that has nothing to do with it! _Mahariel snapped, her own voice hurting her ears some. _The demon played off old doubts I put to rest a long time ago. _Her voice was weaker, as if offering a feeble apology for the preceding outburst. The words of the apology were a lie, but the sentiment was sincere, and even reflected what she wanted. But her ultimate lack of control over her own thoughts saw to it that the words were false.

_I like you for who you are, not what you have done for me Laryn. _

_What else do you know of me? _

Sarah tried to catch Laryn's eye but quickly gave up as she had seemed to preoccupy herself studying a cupboard in the far corner of the room. Why it interested her though, Sarah had no idea. _I think you've led a difficult life. The demon said you were Dalish, and I've never seen one wander alone. _She paused, then continued. _And I know that you are a good person. _

_So nothing. _

_Because you don't tell me anything! _Sarah snapped in exasperation. _I want to know you, I want to hear the stories that made you who you are! I want to help, I... _She trailed off as Laryn looked her in the eye and didn't look away. The elf seemed touched in some way, but her reply was as sharp as ever, albeit a little harder to hear.

_There's a lot of things about me you don't want to know, and you don't want to be my friend. _

_But I do, you're just afraid!_

_LISTEN TO ME! _The accusation had barely left Sarah's mouth before Laryn was on her feet, and Sarah couldn't help but be afraid. It was as if she needed to be reminded of how unnerving Laryn could be when angered. The elf continued, having clipped the volume but not the furious intensity of her words. _Neither of us need this! You don't need the trouble, and I certainly don't need the pain of having ruined someone else's life! Haven't you noticed? Since we've met you've nearly been killed by a demon murdered by an arrow and drowned, and I inadvertently killed everyone on board that ship! Do you think that's a good sign? Do you think I'd be saying this if I didn't believe it? If I'd never seen it before? Do you?!_

_That was hardly your doing, was it? _Sarah felt her own voice rising as she stared at the elf, who was pacing furiously as if incapable of standing still.

_If you're saying that was bad luck-_

_I'm saying you couldn't control what happened any more than I could. _Strange... she'd never cut off Laryn while she was speaking before...

The elf didn't even seem to notice though. She was either too distracted or it was too much a triviality for her to care. Or maybe she did, because she wasn't silent for a time after that, leaving it to Sarah to say what she would. She did. _Whatever you think, you've been a friend to me-_

_I helped you because I pitied your position, not because I wanted a friend. _

Sarah swallowed and looked away, gentle tears forming in her eyes. She wiped them away with her sleeve and looked at Laryn again. _I didn't ask, I didn't need it. _Laryn was once more studying the room, deliberately avoiding Sarah's gaze, though this time Sarah knew what she was doing. _Look at me Laryn. _

The elf turned her head, bloodshot eyes barely seeming to see her, the expression on her face completely unreadable. It was... empty, somehow.

_If that was all you were doing, you wouldn't still be here. _

Laryn looked at the water pitcher on the table and the false smile pulled at the corners of her lips, but she didn't even manage that. _Wouldn't I? _

Sarah didn't have an answer. Her instinct told her no, but then Laryn had been right when she said that she knew nothing about her. What could she really say to that? In a strange way, she felt as if she were feeling what Laryn normally felt, but that couldn't be right If it was though, she pitied the elf.

_I haven't even told you my proper name. _Solaryn didn't look for Sarah's reaction, she didn't look at her at all. She couldn't do that. She walked quickly around the table and left the room in a hurry. She couldn't be there anymore, it was too tense, she had said too much with too little thought and caused too much pain to stay there longer. She went straight down the hallway which, by some manner of luck, led straight out into the main room she barely remembered from the previous night. She ignored everyone and they may or may not have ignored her, she didn't pay enough attention to know. The racket struck her ears harshly and all she wanted to do was get as far away from the tavern as possible.

She flinched as she flung open the door, both from the sound of it slamming the stone wall and from the light that was entirely too bright on her eyes. As soon as she was into the open cool air she jerked abruptly to the right and just started walking with no idea where or why. At least the streets were somewhat empty, the time being early morning.

It wasn't long at all before she passed through a small square in the squalid district where the street turned abruptly to the right. Most of the houses, assuming they were houses, were resting above ground level with stairs leading up to the entrances. She ignored this as she rounded the bend and continued down the street, as her thoughts were already mulling over what had just happened, a thing she really did not want to do. She stopped in a narrow alley just outside of the square and put a hand to her head as if to ward off her thoughts. It was always the same it seemed... Someone would try to get too close or too close too quickly and she would invariably either turn them away or simply run.

Just like she had done with Alistair, just like what she had done with Lelianna, and just like she was doing now. She shook her head and abruptly slammed both her arms into the nearest building in frustration, a small growl of exasperation escaping her lips. She let her head hang loose as she studied the all too familiar sandstone of the city. Why did she always do this? What defect in her character was it that was so determined to so greatly inhibit her ability to trust? She knew the answer to that, and knew even better where the defect had originated, but simply did not know what to do about it. She sighed and shook her head. She had to start somewhere. She didn't know where that would be, but she'd sort that out soon enough.

_Are you alright miss? _

Solaryn looked up to find the man she had seen walking out of the bar last night standing only a few feet away from her. She normally would've known his approach the moment he came within a hundred yards, whether she could see him or no, but these were hardly normal circumstances. _I'm fine. _She said quietly. _Just a little wrong in the head right now. _

The man laughed and asked if she needed anything, if he remembered seeing her the night before he didn't show it. She said no, she just needed to be alone. And he nodded in an understanding manner as if he actually understood. Ludicrous. _Well, take care then. _He said, then turned and walked off back towards where he had come from, wherever that was.

She sighed and started walking again, taking small solace in the motion.

Back in the Hanged man, Varric pushed open the door to the room to find Sarah sitting at the table with her head in her hands. _Interesting friend you have. _He said as he leaned against the frame, casually propping the door open with his foot.

_That's one way to put it. _Sarah remarked bitterly in a voice that sounded like she was choking back tears, which more or less killed Varric's interest in the situation. He may have been jovial enough when he told Hawke that he couldn't stand to see a human cry, but he had not been lying. _I'll leave you alone then. _He said casually, and walked back out of the room.

_You do that. _Sarah whispered a few moments after the door had shut. She then pulled her hands away from her face and conjured an array of sparks in her hand. She halfheartedly played with them, forcing the colors and shape to change as she hummed a song she had learned a short time after her father had died. The tears might have been liquid crystal running down her cheek as they glittered in the dim light.

* * *

><p>Juillet sat across from the house where the intimately starved went to quell their hunger with emptiness studying the clients as they came and went with an intensity that would unnerve those who took note of it. She carefully studied them, weighing their state of mind, their likely preference, but most importantly the weight of their purses. It was an old habit from her days as a street-whore in Orlais, albeit reconsecrated to a new purpose. Back then she would have been trying to find a night's work, not judging who had the fattest purse that could be taken most easily. She normally didn't like theft, but a deep-seeded hatred she bore for those depraved bags of dirt made it easy for her to make an exception.<p>

She sneezed loudly and felt her nose clear for the briefest of moments before clogging up to the point where she once again was restricted to breathing through her mouth. She knew she would do better indoors at the Chantry, but time spent there could not be put to use, and she didn't believe at all in wasting time- another old habit that hadn't died. She would rest and recover later. When she had coin, when she had put recent events to rest. But for the time being, for that day, she would not be idle. She quietly thanked the Grand Cleric for providing her with a simple cloth tunic and skirt, as Chantry robes here would be quite conspicuous indeed.

She saw Brennard approaching out of the corner of her eye and pretended not to notice. She took some small token of amusement as he tried to sneak up on her, the idiot. One did not simply stalk up to a woman sitting alone in a public square with dozens of people standing around. Still she waited until he was only a few paces away before speaking in a dispassionate tone. _Salut Brennard._

If he was surprised, he didn't show it, and that was much to his credit. _Er.. gâteau? I don't speak Orlessian. _

_'Zen why bother? _Silence to that, she couldn't say that she was surprised.

_Never mind that. _He said impatiently. _Come on, I have something to show you. _She took the hand that was offered and he pulled her to her feet. She followed him out of the street that contained the whore-house with reluctance, unsure if she trusted the man and apprehensive about letting the pigs indulge themselves without penalty. Well, at least the latter could always be seen to another day...

She followed Brennard through the streets for a short time until they came to a large open square with only a few people standing around. Three of the sides were framed in by tall buildings and the third contained only a stone half wall leaving a gorgeous view out to the sea. Around midday the sun would shine overbright on the area, but it was still morning and as it was the place was quite pleasant. There were only two ways to reach it, the street they were on, and a street off to their right as they approached. It seemed out of the way, with few access points, and inconspicuous after its own right. It wasn't a place she would have chosen, but there were certainly worse, especially when one considered the possibility of having to dispose of a body.

They reached the stone half wall and both turned to lean against it. Brennard made a brief remark about the weather and how nice the sea-breeze felt. Insensitive bastard, did he not remember his part in how they had gotten to the city? But of course he did, he was just an insensitive bastard. Juillet asked him coolly what they were there for and Brennard responded by showing approval of her being a woman that got straight to the point.

_At any rate, this is where it'll happen. _He looked around as if expecting to find someone nearby who might overhear when he knew full well the nearest people were well out of earshot. _My associate is off telling our friend that this is where the exchange is to be, and that we will be here tonight. This will suit our friend fine, as he left the place to our discretion as a show of trust. _He looked at Juillet to make sure she understood and continued only after she had nodded. _Now, my associate and I will be standing more or less where we are now, so our friend should be wide open as he crosses the square. You take him at your leisure, just don't miss, and we all walk out of here with forty sovereigns to our names, after throwing the bloke into the sea of course. Simple, right? _

Juillet considered the plan thoroughly. It was very simple at that, just simple enough for things to get unnecessarily complicated. But if they did, what of it? It wasn't her body in the danger zone. _Mais I still 'ave no bow, and from where will I shoot? _

_You see that building? _Brennard asked as he pointed to a tall stone structure not far away. _The bow's been planted on the roof of those apartments, along with a dozen arrows. There's some work being done around the back side of the place, and there'll be a nice scaffold that you can climb like a ladder. _

_Convenient. _

_That's exactly why we chose this place, it's perfect! _The man certainly looked very sure of himself. _Questions? _

She considered what she knew and what she needed to know very carefully before answering. _No. _

_Good. _He said brightly and handed her a small pouch containing what felt like eighty silvers. _For the trouble, yes? _

_If you say so. _She carefully stowed the coinpurse out of sight and turned around to look out towards the sea. Brennard said he'd be at the brothel if she thought of anything else and she said that was fine. He bid her farewell and left. _Cochon. _She snipped to the waves that weren't listening before spitting at the spot where he had been standing, certain that he was out of sight and earshot. At least she would never have to seem him again once they were done that night.

Until the night though, she had other things to do, other preparations to make. Not for a specific danger, but rather general precautions. She remembered seeing an herbalist outside the main entrance to the Gallows prison, and set visiting there as her next priority. There was still so much to do... she sneezed violently again and shivered.

_\_


End file.
